One of the great gifts of having studied literature is the number of poems I carry with me from memory. Yesterday, walking toward the cliffs at Dallas Road in Victoria, I was practically blinded by sunlight that had seemed so muted only days before (photo here).
Wow, I thought—just one month beyond the winter solstice, and the light is really changing. I thought of the first lines of one of my favorite poems, by Theodore Roethke, and it seemed so apt.
The light comes brighter from the east; the caw Of restive crows is sharper on the ear. A walker at the river's edge may hear A cannon crack announce an early thaw.
Yes, the light does come brighter now. And in so many ways.
First, spring is on the way. That means so many more opportunities to explore this beautiful island in the months ahead.
Second, the United States will get considerably brighter once the scourge has been removed from the White House.
Third, I just finished the first draft of my second play. It’s not good enough yet, but it exists.
Fourth, I have gotten my first cruise assignment==not until 2022, but a sign that it looks as if that part of my life will resume.
Yes, the light comes brighter. I turn my face to greet it.