The light has changed. I can see it when I look out the window. It's more silvery now rather than golden as it rises in the morning, the sun's rays throwing a shaft of light between the buildings in the early morning. I sometimes sit on the window seat and watch it move across the courtyard between the Brownstones and apartment buildings, the sun rising into the sky and illuminating the bedroom window around 10 am. This only lasts about an hour, and then the room passes into shade again. Such is the life of certain city dwellers.
Truth to tell—I am in an Umbrian Serenades funk, having gotten back more than a week ago: missing people, music, and the dolce that is Umbria. And wouldn't you know it? I had been in Spoleto four times already and had never been to San Ponziano in lower Spoleto (it's build on a hill), where I found a resplendent angel in a crypt, holding the world in his 14th century hand. I thought of him all this past week, and how he could only be viewed by candlelight (and the light that managed to enter a small window) for a thousand years; his outstretched wings in shadow, far more grey than the glorious red and orange that are revealed by halogen illumination.
Life is like that, I thought: It's time to go inside, turn on the lights, and see things for what they are.
Photo Credit: Angel holding the world at San Ponziano, Spoleto, Italy.