Warmth

In the midst of an an inexplicably difficult season, the sun has decided as of a few weeks ago that it should comply with the winter solstice and allow it's light to dissipate at a much earlier hour. Last Monday, upon driving to my evening class, the sun was setting behind me as I was driving through Gopher Canyon; Copeland was once again softly resounding from my speakers, and suddenly I felt at peace. How I wish the sweetness of such stillness and warmth would present itself unto me more frequently; though I must not deny the fact that the absence of such placidity is no one's fault but mine. 

I shall leave you with an excerpt from Gilead by Marilyn Robinson:

"The moon looks wonderful in this warm evening light, just as a candle flame looks beautiful in the light of morning. Light within light. It seems like a metaphor for something...

It seems to me like a metaphor for the human soul, the singular light within the general light of existence. Or it seems like poetry within language. PErhaps wisdom within experience. Or marriage within friendship or love."