Gray Days and Sunshine

The days after Christmas have a stunned feel to it. The crescendo of holiday hoopla has dropped off very suddenly. We're left with a full week before the new year celebration to reflect on the fact that Chicago winter is upon us, that the evenings come sooner and that we're a little unsure how looking forward to the next celebration-- Valentine's Day-- is going to make up for the gray which surrounds us.

When I have a flight scheduled on a day which is cloudy, I'm always impressed with how we ascend above the cloudline into a world which is blindingly light-giving. The sun reflects brightly off the clouds so much so that I am often forced to pull my window shade, even a little. Every time this happens I tell myself, "See? It only SEEMS like there is no sun. But beyond that cloud covering is something far more marvelous than you could have ever imagined."

In fact, when the plane descends back into cloud cover and lands on the gritty runway, I find my heart is fuller when I know that I have seen the sun; the gray doesn't bother me as much.

This year I don't anticipate having the opportunity to take that flight, but when I peruse the pictures of this past year, of the memories that beam brightest, they simulate that sun effect on me.

I see a very proud girl in a blown glass workshop.

 

I see beautiful fragility.

I see creativity.

And color.

Summer mornings.

New life.

Motherhood.

Garden pride.

Sheer joy.

Expression.

Playing with food.

Uninhibited.

Peace.

Sketches.

Little helper hands.

Summer fun.

Becoming.