every day in 2016, write a sentence or a paragraph or a poem that appreciates
light
people who paint tell me the light in Seattle is different from the light in Los Angeles. I grin and say of course it is. in Los Angeles you have sunshine smeared by smog, in Seattle you have whatever part of sunshine manages to get through overcast. thereby I prove myself unable to participate in their conversation. I do not see light as an artist (painter) does. I'm not sure I see it as an engineer or a physicist or an astronomer does either. maybe as a poet. I see the silveriness of moonlight. the faintness of starlight. sunlight I see as brash and swaggering, vibrant and vigorous. Seattle-light I see as shy or perhaps devious, trying for the silveriness of moonlight but only achieving shades of grey. a friend of mine who painted there, decades ago when I allegedly lived in Seattle, told me "the problem with you is that you can't see. you're not blind, but you might as well be. the world will never be anything to you except a physics lab." as it turned out, that has proved a bearable curse. I claim I appreciate light, and use its shadings in my poems and stories. but now and then I wish I could see whatever it is my Seattle friend could see. (by the way: "allegedly lived in Seattle" - for three years, whenever anyone asked "where do you live?" my automatic answer was "Seattle." I had bought a house there. my wife and child lived there. but I spent as much time in Los Angeles as in Seattle. it was confusing then, and - as you can see - confuses me still today.) <imagine me grinning at you> perhaps what I see is light, and cannot see the light.
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