“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.”
~ Ray Bradbury
“You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”
I read both of these quotations last night at work on my break at the library - on Facebook. "How to tip ourselves over...." Well, that's my thought to ponder through another work day.
Yesterday, I happened to be out on my usual walk in this really beautiful eerie light. I'd tried to get out there slightly earlier than usual - because the sky was that extraordinary glowing pink that you get on winter mornings. The air even, seems pink. But I missed that. Instead, the pink had subsided and there was a strong gold seeping up along the horizon. The sky was blue - light and then a deeper blue. It lasted for about half of my walk, this particular light, and then it was grey. By the time I was heading home, the heaviest sort of grey.
Usually when I take photos out there, I make sure the frame disallows the highway. How to make huge trucks and cars zooming by look like anything? I'm very conscious though that when I'm out there walking, the people on the road are going to work, going to jobs that maybe they love, maybe they can't stand them, or maybe it's somewhere in between. They're traveling. They're late, or they're on time. They're listening to music, or the news. They're thinking about where they have to be, where they have to go. Maybe they're noticing the way the light is hitting the road, or maybe it's in their eyes and they lower the visor. But nevertheless, for a few moments, out there, we're all bathed in the same light.
We're all bathed in that low golden light, fleetingly.
We're all cups being filled, right?