Sunny Morning

The air is cool but sunlight fills the yard. I haven't been posting much here because my days have all been pretty much the same within a narrow range of sameness. The quality of the light I see when I look out over the river changes over the course of a day: early, it is tinged with yellow, shifting as the morning progresses toward something more neutral, until by midday things present themselves in their own colors. By evening the yellow quality returns. This is all just the physics of light waves. So far so good. But despite the plain science of light, there is some residue of meaning or perhaps only a feeling that inheres in the light. Is it just one of those things that's "in our heads," or is there something more? What's the extra thing that we feel when we allow ourselves to enter the light? Mere illusion? I don't think so, and can only conclude we human beings--and animals even more so--have the ability to sense the invisible aspects of reality. That light inside the light. The overwhelming greenness of the day is now in full effect & the ordinary light pours down, its invisibles withdrawn into a noon silence. The old Romans thought of noon as a kind of witching hour, a moment of stasis when shadows stand & shiver as noon clicks over into afternoon.

Author: jd

Joseph Duemer is Professor of Literature Emeritus at Clarkson University in northern New York state. His most recent book of poems is Magical Thinking from Ohio State University Press. Since the mid-1990s he has spent a good deal of time in Vietnam, mostly Hanoi. He lives with his wife Carole & five terriers (four Jack Russells & one Patterdale) on the stony bank of the Raquette River in South Colton.

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