the brightness of midday
Hope is a precarious thing. Without it, we would get no where but where the wind blows us, remain here and now in a mediocrity based on circumstances. The purgatory of a life of compromise. With it, we find drive and purpose and meaning to our lives, but allow ourselves to be vulnerable to disappointment. The dangers of dreaming.
If I had known there was a probable meteor shower, the gift would not have been the same. Anticipation and expectation was replaced by awe and gratitude. One is not better than the other. Only different. We try to base our lives on the volatile balance.
I wake in darkness and find my way around the cabin, everything known by feel as I build the fire, feed the cats, let out the dog, and put on the coffee. There is light outside only from the stars reflecting on the snow. It is bright enough. I do not need a candle to find my way around. We appreciate the relative brightness when the snow is present for half the year.
Suddenly a flash in the sky seizes my attention to the south facing window. Through the big picture window, our version of a wide screen TV, I see the dazzling streak pass due south, cutting a brilliant white line through the infinite array of stars in the blackness, passing behind the horizon of Simpson Mountain. Only an instant of brilliant light. The impression remains much longer.
Unexpected gifts nature allows us when we least think likely. I can not help but to look for more.