A few weeks ago I met a group of friends at the local just-a-little-over-a-dollar theater, to catch the afternoon showing of a well-reviewed documentary. Two hours later as the credits rolled, my friends dispersed back to their respective Sunday afternoons, except for me, Julia, and Dan. And conveniently, for us lingerers, just across the way was a small wine bar, opening in 5 minutes.
When the friendly barista unlocked the door five minutes later, we took seats at the countertop at the window, in order to watch/soak in the fading daylight. Squinting because the sun is in my eyes - after a seemingly endless winter of rare & fleeting sunlight - is one of my most cherished signs that winter is transitioning into spring. You will find me in hallways at work, next to our floor-to-ceiling glass windows, chin skyward, eyes closed, sun dappling my happy face.
Back at the bar, our perfect little flights of wine arrived. And I began to chase the light.
This first moment of beautiful sunlight led me to others.
A morning of sunlight, blinds wide open.
Another morning, I noticed what half-closed blinds created.
Raindrops of light almost.
Yesterday though, I arrived home from work, to a gift of light throughout my downstairs. The glass in my front door seemed to be the culprit for the rainbows of light hitting every surface they could find.