This is one of the scenes that pop up in life that I love. It often goes unnoticed but when it comes I quietly and secretly hold its short lived gentle existence of lighted beauty…. Its like a poem waiting to be written. And I think I have written some while gazing. Then it fades with only the dimming of dusk filling the room. They are never recorded on paper. It’s only between the light and I. And during moments of being in bed because of fatigue, the shadow of dancing leaves, and light seeping in through the blinds on a certain hour of the day, pulls me away inviting my heart to lend itself to honest words; things my heart remembers or can’t help to remember. I try to watch it as long as I can… relishing the color of orange light, enjoying the artistic presence as the dimming day introduces itself once again to the quiet night hours. I’ll greet it again and I know that special quiet will write a memory or reflection of thoughts only I have known and felt. Again, I will have known myself a little bit more, to be in the barely lit room vulnerable to no one but God who speaks so gently through these moments.