A Light Story To Soften Your Day.

The day was winding down.

It had been overcast until the last few hours when the sun re-appeared to add its touches to the evening. I had just finished my dinner in the room with sky-high windows. Taking the last bite, I turned toward the mountains for a fuller view, dessert if you will.

The landscape had been scrubbed clean from the last few days of downpours. Now, with a bright nod from the setting sun, the colors below and beyond the mountain ridge turned especially dramatic.

But something felt different than usual…

There was, yes, the standard backdrop of mountain midnight blue, deepening as evening approached. And tonight the blue was so strong, I closed my eyes to invite the depth of that blue into the center of me.

This is the blue I welcome when I most need reassurance and strength. Confidence. A strong foundation.

Some days the mountains offer deep sky blue or dark slate blue. Other days, Dodger blue, cornflower blue, steel blue. There’s plenty of blue in these mountains and these mountains share.

Across the valley, each blade of grass, every tousle-headed bush and tree was dressed for the evening in a favorite spring shade of green. And thanks to the generous sun, the green finery was awash in spectacular light. 


As the sun slowly descended to the mountain ridge to my left, a colossal pile of brilliant white clouds moved in with unusual speed and accuracy, setting the stage for a possible grande finale, a last call for luminosity.

The process seemed faster and showier as if to say, pay attention! So I stood and waited. And watched.

There was a bright tension developing.

Cloud after cloud moved swiftly in front of the dropping sun, harnessing the light, holding it back, reigning it in, creating a light gate — one which began almost immediately to strain mightily at the seams.

There was, after all, unlimited light pushing from behind.

I wondered about capacity. Did the light gate have its limits? Would it burst? I noticed I was holding my breath.

Then, when it could hold no more, without announcement or fanfare, the light gate simply yawned. Or opened to speak, I’m not sure.

Through the gaping cloud mouth shot so much light! Over the valley it careened, worlds of light, galaxies of it — pouring, pouring — a breathtaking, awe-inspiring light slam!

The light did not spread evenly over the valley. Instead, the open gate sent one bold blast of blazing light through a single line of poplar trees, pouring so much light into them, they glowed with green fire.

The poplar leaves, light-drenched from every angle — top, bottom, sideways — became fluorescent green, radiant from within. I wondered how they felt being so loaded with light!

Taking a deep breath, I thought about humanity and how we might relate to the pouring of brilliant light. We humans can, after all, focus streams of love and light from our own eyes and heart out to the world. We can direct our light. Our love.

What if we did that — more? What if we waited to communicate until we were bursting with light? What if (then and only then) we opened our light gate to speak? What would change on the world stage? Or at home?

On other days, we’d be a poplar tree, drenched in light from another. We’d let the incoming light infuse us, inspire us, light our way.

I put my hand on my heart, running for my phone to see about a picture. But in the seconds required to reach for my other eyes, the cloud gate closed its mouth and that was that.

Light across the valley softened instantly. Tall trees relaxed. The soft greens below pulled a dark, cool sheet of midnight blue over and settled into the quiet of the evening.

Gradually, night came.

Witnessing the light shot, feeling the power of that much focused radiance has changed me. I’m not quite sure what happened to my understanding of life, or to my heart, or my soul, but I can tell you I (and those trees) will never be quite the same.

What I can say is that a deeper understanding of the power of light went into my bones. Light speak is more clear to my heart-being. My belief in our human connection to nature has never been more pronounced. Could there be a better partner for humanity than nature? I don’t think so.

That nature goes to the trouble of arranging a sky full of clouds and light to make a point, to show a truth — I’m not sure if I’ll ever understand the enormity of that kind of love. 


In Care of Relationships, light, nature love, sunset, Terri Crosby

Comments (10)

  • Terri, this is an amazing post. It goes in your book, right?

    I had an odd experience as I read your words. They were all about sight and color and light:visual words. But a lot of my experience as I read was auditory. I heard “music” that was just under the threshold of hearing. Knowing you sing like an angel, I had to tell you this. It was as if the sky was orchestrating a great hymn of love, full out with a climax of symbals after a building crescendo. So you bathed me in Light with a sound show. Thanks so much dearest friend. I think all Quakers should read this as it is a very good visual about how to tell w hen your inner message from the “Light” should rise to the level of Vocal Ministry to the Meeting.
    With Gratitude to you and for you

  • I know that colossal pile of brilliant white clouds , feel edges of division melt as the warmth of loves single light penetrates, a breath in the reverence of this shared moment. Thank you for the deep rich place of connection and beauty your words left me basking in.

    Thinking of you, loving you,

  • Terri–As I read of your experience I found myself holding my breath too–whew, now I can breathe. While I am sure I didn’t experience the bolt of light as you did, I found I felt something. A beautiful journey–thank you!!

  • The second time a re-read your last few paragraphs I remembered Joni Mitchel’s song, “We are stardust, We are golden, . . . And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.” As organic beings, we are made of elements that were sprinkled on the earth from far off, exploding stars. I often feel myself being drawn back to my source, especially at night when I gaze at the moon and stars.

    Madeline L’engle writes about music or vibration in the same way in her book, A Wrinkle In Time. She speaks of the mytochondria in our cells singing the same song as the stars and as every living thing on earth. Our sun is a star. Did you hear its song resonate within you?

    • Thank you for reminding me of Joni Mitchell’s song! That’s perfect…and I love the idea of our mitochondria singing a universal song with every living thing on earth. That’s so up my alley. Maybe that’s why I feel so drawn to nature, particularly the sun. Thank you for sharing.

  • What phenomenal imagery you give with your words.
    And of course I believe as do, “Could there be a better partner for humanity than nature? I don’t think so.”

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