It was the light

It was about that time of day that most of us like to call twilight. I'm almost never sure of the difference between dusk and twiilight, so we'll use that definition that says twilight is after sunset but before dark, wherein dusk would be almost dark with just a little bit of sunset. I think you all know what I mean.

We were headed across where the Roosevelt Bridge ends at Constitution Avenue, talking about nothing, and I was overtaken by this... the light from the west shining off the river and the monuments and the bridges. I felt as though everything had changed, and yet nothing had. Ever. There was just this light reflecting and reflecting and reflecting: every color, and no color at all.

Which is exactly as it should be.

That's why I live here. Other places have twilights, but nobody else sees exactly what I see here. I think when you find something that only you can see, you should recognize that as more important somehow. To me, it seems bigger from all the stories about me being sick, about Franny's cat dying, about anything.

I know that other people see things this way, I just wonder if they realize what a gift their eyes are.

[1] If this had been a movie, Fedward and I would have taken off on a Transatlantic chase to slap Celine Dion's face. Hard. And there would be car chases. And explosions.

before - after