I was thinking the other day, walking in our neighborhood, that we were blessed by God; later, our daughter Emily, who lives in Ohio, told us why.
“You are blessed,” she said. “It’s the light. It’s different here. There’s a scientific reason for it, I’ve read about it. That’s why all the painters came out here, for the light. It has to do with the salt in the air, I think. It’s not the same in Ohio. There’s a . . . glow . . . here. You see it on the leaves. It’s even on the shingles of your roof,” she said, looking up from our chairs on the deck, where, admittedly, we were well into the glow of the cocktail hour.
“We’re glowing, Mary!” I said with delight. “Even in Springs! You glow, girl.”
This morning it was cloudy, and I asked Emily if we still glowed. Yes, she said, though not quite as much.
She feels it all the day apparently, even when the sun isn’t shining, though, to me, that glowing light is most evident in the early evening, often, as I’ve written in the past, from the vantage point of our outdoor shower.
That she too is our light may heighten the effect at this time of the year. She and her children have lightened our spirits in these past few days. And soon they’ll be 600 miles distant again, which is nothing when you consider the vastness of space, but which is something down here.
You glow, girl.
And to retain that feeling of being blessed that I have felt while walking in our neighborhood we’ll keep you in our mind’s eye.