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.