December 23, 2020

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Yesterday, another day with heavy dark skies covered in winter layers of soft gray flannel blankets, their satin, gun-metal bindings laying curled along the black tree line, I heard what sounded like the striking of a match in the wind and a small light flickered on in the distance through the woods. It looked like a reading lamp burning in a dark house and I followed it curiously through the woods. It was there and then it wasn’t, like someone walking with a flashlight back and forth I could see it and then I couldn’t. I followed it down the trail, it would flash in my eyes and then disappear leaving not a trace of color or light, no beam, no shadows cast. When I popped out into the open of the Powell Marsh, I saw it was the sun that had pierced a small hole, peeking out from the blanket on the far horizon. It was only the sun, a small yellow light in this gigantic gray world. It didn’t light anything up and, strangely, it didn’t shine on anything, there were no shadows anywhere and nothing reflected its light. It seemed weak and powerless. And then this happened for a few moments. An incredible powerful yawn before another long, dark night? And then as quickly as it appeared, a few minutes later it was gone, and the world slipped comfortably back into its familiar ashen cloak for the night.