Tag Archives: light

The Light

The light that falls over a lovely passage in a book, and you feel something shift within you.

The light that catches the floating steam off a coffee cup as it mingles with the mist in the mountains, and on this wisp, you can hear the call of the highland birds between the sounds of cutlery at the breakfast table.

The light that entangles with the ridges of a smile, casting shadows on the creases of a face that you have fallen in love with.

The light that shines through a leaf as it stands stoic and silent in the summer heat, allowing it to pass through, making it transparent like muslin.

The light that falls on a baby’s sleeping face as the mother checks in on her, opening the door gently, slowly, so that a wedge of beam sneaks into the room and washes over her closed eyes.

The light that slants through the kitchen window and falls on the dented contours of pots and pans used for many years, their spaces fragrant with stories of many shared meals, conversations and silence.

The light that brushes against the silver sheen of a woman’s hair as she carries a basket of fresh vegetables from the market, and winds through the wrinkles on her face as she crosses the road, her hands full of all that sustains life.

The light that slips in through raindrops, and forms rainbows in your eyes.

The light that weaves in through the delicate fray of a well- worn cotton top, snuggling in between the air and comfort that breathes through.


That kind of lightness. That kind of Light.


Vignettes of Dawn

13007175_10153491614321723_2634067147948700648_nVignettes of Dawn


Morning breaks


Light footed, heavy-hearted

Into the musing

Hush of dawn.

Gilded and golden-caged,

Light spills on

To the floor,

Climbs the ceiling,

Dances in confinement.

Light Play

Wake up to the melody of gurgling cold streams gushing over sinewy rocks in the rainforest. Their soothing murmur ushering you into a new day.

A welcome song with a live orchestra of a chorus of birds, the chirrup of squirrels and the hoot of monkeys. The light broken up into patterns by leaves filters into the room, entering in subdued patches and fragments at first, and as the sun climbs higher into the dense foliage, saunters in boldly with strides of beams that nudge the comfort of your blanket.

You watch the light play all over the day, shifting like a kaleidoscope over snug cane chairs, the veins of leaves, shading petals, forming arches over windows, creating mirror works of art on the ground and falling in love with faces, painting them with depth and character.

Transforming everything it touches, as if waving a wand over the day.

In its presence, each moment acquires a wondrous quality, connections are seen for the first time between previously disparate things.

You sit by the still waters and watch time dissolve at dusk. And as the year draws to an end, and the last light smudges and leaves the sky, the excited chatter of the birds returning to their nests dies down, and the sky sleeps on its bed of deep velvet embroidered with stars, you realise that time is a continuum. We have divided it into days, weeks, months, years-giving it a linearity, held it in place by a regimen of segments. Time goes on in an eternal circle without boundaries, without enclosures.

Nothing has begun, nothing has ended.