Sunbeams and Moonlight

We know have Christmas lights strung in four rooms in our house. Yes, I’m one of those people. When I plug in the strand of lights in my office, the space changes. Now it feels like The. Creative. Space.

It doesn’t feel like news to say light affects us. Many of us struggle in seasons with little light, and a room with buzzing fluorescent lighting can put a person on edge, don’t you think? Obviously lighting sets a mood. You know fairly quickly in a movie if it is meant to be an Oscar contender or a horror flick by the light cast over a scene.

And how many words have humans dedicated to moonlight? Just recently during the so-called Strawberry Moon, I ran down the street to the corner where I could have an unobstructed view. I have yet to tire to looking up at the big hunk of rock reflecting the light of the sun.

One thing my mother was trying to capture in her paintings was light shimmering on water. In the car, she’d point the shades of light out to me–the golden light of a late summer afternoon, the clear crisp light of a winter day, the coins of light shimmering through the trees, the colors of light in a sunset on the lake, and even the glare of sun on cars.

Light seems so romantic, until you’re desperate to escape the scorching sun or you wish to see the Milky Way. Because you may love light, but we can’t see the beauty of the stars without the darkness.

Recently I learned the word noctalgia–sky grief. Light pollution is stealing the stars, and that’s a shame. Unable to see the stars, perhaps we lose perspective on our place in the universe. We forget we’re on a pale blue dot.