Only that day dawns to which we are awake. —Thoreau
I awake in darkness and grope for the small chain dangling from the lamp on the bedside table. A small tug and the room instantly floods with light.
Padding to my office adjacent to the bedroom, I reach for the wall switch. Because this sliding switch incorporates a rheostat, a different sort of illumination ensues. As the lights come up on stage at the beginning of a performance, so these overhead lights gradually illuminate and define the objects in the room.
I descend the stairs in darkness to the kitchen. While the coffee brews I peer through the back window. The first light of morning has sketched out the structures of the ancient garage, the scalloped fence and the trees beyond. Now merely shades of charcoal grey, these objects will soon take on their true colors in the increasing intensity of the light of the sun.
Back upstairs, cup in hand, I sit at my desk and watch the morning unfold outside: shadows gradually give way to sharp definition as light makes all things new.
Tacitly, I reach for the slider switch on the wall and dim the artificial illumination within the confines of the office as sunlight streams through the double-hung windows, filling the room.
The season of shadows that has eclipsed our outlook for so long is gradually giving way to the promise of spring.