Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Maybe it all has to do with the sun. The light of the sun. The heat of the sun. The energy, the spirit, the power of the sun.
While I'm at the bay, I sit on the end of the dock every morning and breathe. And every morning some aspect of the sun presents itself. Often it's a sensation beyond the spectrum of the written word, at least beyond my grasp of the spectrum, and on those days I choose something else to write about.
Sometimes it's a physical phenomenon that can be described in word only, not in reality. Like today. Today and every day, if there isn't a heavy cloud cover, when I look into the water in the same direction the sun is pointing---that is, with the sun square at my back---I see in the water, radiating out from an epicenter I can NOT see, actual beaming bands of light, in straight lines---like those in a child's drawing of the sun. Each radiating beam has a different intensity of light or shadow, and the bands don't ripple with the water, as the intersecting strings of refracted light do. They are simply there. Steady. Stable. Solid. Untouchable. Unshiny. Not unlike the rays you sometimes see passing through clouds---misty and grayish, but flat against the surface of the water, or just under it---I can't tell which. They widen and disperse outward from an unseeable center to an unseeable end in a radius of 180 degrees.
As I search for words to describe what I see, the shadow of my bald eagle companion moves over the array. I take up the binoculars to watch the eagle fly. His wings pump at a steady pace, propelling him with force, head down. He doesn't once stop pumping to soar. He flies fast in the light that passes through the sky. I feel like a child watching a helium balloon. But the eagle disappears in less time. dkm