Illuminated - Sept 18 2021

 

Illuminated

Sept 18 2021

Before the new windows arrive

I've moved tables and chairs

removed all the curtains and blinds.

Early fall

and the low sun comes flooding in,

casting its golden glow

and reaching the eternally dark corners

and whatever secrets they hold.

I've grown accustomed to subdued light

and thought I preferred it that way;

but now, illuminated, the place seems magical,

the colours rich

fabrics alive.

And through the unobstructed windows

clear blue sky,

as if the buffer that divides

outside from in

had lifted,

making the house seem small

but the world bigger.

But still, change is hard,

and the sense of disorder disturbs me.

You get used to things just-so,

and the feeling of a loss of control

leaves me uncertain.

Dust dances in the shafts of sun.

The maple floors have a lustrous shine,

despite the clumps of shed brown hair

I never noticed before.

And the dogs lie by the windows

seeking out the warmest spots,

oblivious to the change in light

out-of-place furniture.

Where, as usual, they promptly fall asleep

as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

The story is only partially true. Yes, without the blinds the place does feel illuminated. And the fall sun is indeed golden. But no curtains; only blinds. And I'm not sure I could live with this. I actually do prefer subdued light, the firm division between inside and out. OK for now; but not permanent.

It isn't fall by the official calendar, but it is by ours. Because by the first week of September, the leaves are already turning, the days noticeably shortening, and the nights cooler. So fall it is.

The dogs, btw, are – very cat-like – lying in the sun. But instead of inside, out on the porch, where – whenever possible – they usually are. But the point remains: the flexible and accepting nature of dogs. And how we lead parallel but non-intersecting lives, where our concerns and preoccupations are utterly immaterial to them.