A photographer will tell you (probably) – it’s about light. At the end and beginning, in the dusky red and the early white, in the grey from cloud cover and the blue off the harbor. Good pictures are about light.
And not just about sun.
They’re also about our light. The kind that glows, that sings out, that is finally, fully, un-self-conscious because your self is a self you wrap up in love. The kind that promises to remind you. The kind of light that begins when you decide to twirl in a full yellow skirt and pirouette while staring at the afternoon reflected in the deep, glowing blue of the harbor. The kind that makes you laugh.
I told you a while back that this is a year about light. And then, I must have said this a thousand times, that God turned off the lights. I’m fumbling blind, squinting into the miles of Sunday running prayer for a way forward. And He calmly keeps His hand on the light switch.
But when I drove to Rockport on Saturday, when I flung out my real prayer – God, can I please feel beautiful today? – and worried it was selfish and unfair, and worried still that to say less was to lie, and then.
God gifted light:
God said, light, dear one?
And, somehow, between the green tea, the laughter, the not quite yet spring sun,
where my winged prayer met my winged heart,
Right there, in the midst of it:
I could see.
(Photos by Bob Delaney of Rockport)