Wednesday, February 19, 2014

technicolor warmth

 I didn't know how to pronounce quinoa. I remember thinking quinoa was a kind of fish.
--Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl.

Anger is hurt that thinks itself helpless.
I tip-toed across the icy sidewalk.
afraid of doing an accidental set of splits after hitting a slick patch of frozen slush,
and wary of breaking through the thick layer of sludge, and finding myself ankle-deep in a gross puddle of half-frozen street-snow.
I held my breath, held myself together, kept myself tucked in, choking back the pit in my stomach, and the knot that throbbed in my heart.
I looked up at the morning sky, thinking how bright it was for just a few minutes past sunrise.
There, to my right, on the Eastern edge of the distance, the glorious sun, ruby red like a naked grapefruit, was rising into the perilously blue sky.
The sky was a dazzling, creamy light blue.
Bright, gilded with clouds that were outlined in gold.
I stopped for a full minute, my boots marinating in a sea of half-melted slush, and stared at the brilliant skyline and the gilded rim of clouds.
My mouth hung open in awe,
the type of awe that accompanies organ chords in a sunlit church,
or the awe when you sit so close to the stage, you can hear the soft, satisfying smack of the dancers' pointe shoes hit the stage floor,
when you see their leg muscles tense, as they propel themselves upward into the air, spinning with iron grace,
when you see their arms float like butter above their unshakably strong legs.
The type of awe that accompanies one's first glimpse of a Caravaggio, hiding among the myriad other paintings in the National Gallery.
The type of awe that draws you into Monet's Waterlilies, enchanting you with its sheer, gratuitous revelation of beauty.
It is the awe that forms within us when we encounter an unabashed and completely un-hidden beauty.
The boldness of that sight casts a spell of inspiration inside our own hearts.
As I stared up at that gilded sky, I marveled at how that golden sunlight bathed the snow around me.
I had never seen such a warm light in wintertime before, and I felt as though the entire world had, for a second, been bathed in a sunbeam.
The warmth of the sun ran down my body from head to toe, and everywhere I looked was swathed in a warm, golden haze.

As I marched forward into the darkness of a small snow sprinkling, the sunlight at my back propelled me forward, and I remembered that although I walked down that street by myself, I was not alone.

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