“There was never a night or a problem that could defeat sunrise or hope.” — Bernard Williams
The sun is later now into the morning sky; rising softer, staying lower, leaving us sooner than before. It was there, just below the ridge of clouds, waiting for me as long as it could. But I was slow to move, sleep’s embrace still warmly holding me until I brought myself to the window. Even as I looked, camera in hand, the scene drifted into something new. Filtered by dusty glass and an ancient screen that only pretended to keep out mosquitoes, I stole this brief quiet moment I was given.
A pale blue canvass is feathered throughout with wisps of grey clouds, broken, nonthreatening, texture upon which the sun may paint its shifting mood. This, now, is but the gentle blush that barely remains following a dream. Nothing tangible, recollections unclear, but my heart smiles nonetheless because this time it was a good dream. This time, the light I dreamt of finding again has found me.