Rain came like a stranger in the night, rapping on the roof, the windows, seeping in the cracks—damp and sullenly soaking. Waking up was like waking into a dream. Greens, vibrant and varying against the grey, the world in Technicolor after the dry rasp of summer. I spent the better part of the morning sipping coffee and reading, a white robe draped over my legs, making me look like a bunny—a white and finite spot on the earth among greys and greens. My feet soaked in the cold, a chill that refused to shake.
Blue started to peer out from the cloud curtain and I stood under my tiny awning and calculated colors as if looking for a solution. Despite the latter half of the morning under the covers, reading, my feet still remained cold entities separate from the heat of the rest of my body. As I turned to step back inside, a jasmine vine reached out and tried to lure me back outdoors by the collar of my sweater—if it was up to that plant it would be blue skies and cold feet forever. I decided to take a shower to try to make my feet my own again.
No dice. The shower even seemed lukewarm in feeling toward me. As much as I spun that little knob, indifferent water showered over me. My feet remained little statues of ice refusing to melt. Maybe that is why I wanted to go the lighting store, feel the glow of incandescent light, reflecting on facets of glass—cutting through to warmth. I don’t know why, but something about stores dedicated to lighting fixtures and bulbs always made me think about love. And maybe I saw something of my own thoughts refracted in the glass. So many facets, different light from each angle one looked. Much like love, light was ever changing. I thought about seeing someone in every light—impossible. It would be a fulltime job, more than a fulltime job. A never sleeping, always observing, every hour of every day kind of job. And then, what of abstractions? The inner-lighting? Impossible.
As I stood gazing at the lights, my mind humming like a generator, my feet slowly began to thaw. Maybe I was okay with the unknowing. Maybe I was okay with how incandescently the glow of another human shone on me, knowing only how the refraction made me feel, a slowly thawing medium.