My favorite light.
Not sunrises (too early).
Not sunsets (you got to be on the right block or high up).
Occasionally the moon (but you needed to hold someone's hand to make it more beautiful than sad, and that hand wasn't always there).
No. It was when evening fell and yellow glow from home windows sang hope to me.
Whether after an F train ride down from Macy's, walking along the windows of East Broadway's nicer apartments wishing I could float into one and be safer than I was in the light I lived in...
...or the many years traveling alone by foot on night streets, peering up into the dark for a story of some happy room I might one day step into…
That light was hope.
This night, leaving a home I loved as intimately as one loves family, the Mariner and I looked up and saw in the dark of evening, yellow glow from home windows singing hope.
Only this time, there was no wishing or peering into other people's stories. Waiting for us in other windows was a happy room offering that safer light.
So we took some pictures of the past, and talked about better cameras than phone ones.
Then we strolled into the dark towards home.
**
Related Posts:
Sunday Memories: Part Six: A View From A Kitchen
Sunday Memories: Of Light And Night
You Got Your North Star, I Got Mine
The Walk To Hope
What Really Happened In Rear Window
Sunday Memories: Moving Day
