This Little Light

In the (still) dark days of February, one craves a warm golden halo of light, any light at all, and she looks for it everywhere she goes, stopping whenever she encounters even a spark.

The skies beyond the ash tree in the garden at sunrise, the sun going down like a ball of fire behind the spruces on the lake at the close of day, lighted chandeliers seen through village windows after dark, the crackling light of a fire on the hearth or beeswax candles burning - all give voice to a siren song and exert a sovereign tug on winter weary senses.

An old lantern suspended near the doorway of a crumbling outbuilding in the highlands is a treat at any time of year, but its rich incandescent glow in deep winter twilight is something truly special. Even the chandelier of the Paris Opera could not shed such a perfect light.