The Light In That Hour

As we travel through our days, sometimes something takes hold of us, be it an image or thought, and it stirs our imagination. As we become captivated by its essence, we find ourselves leaning closer into it, in hopes of getting a better view. As certain moments lend themselves to us, we are overcome by an almost immediate vocabulary, where each phrase cumulatively formed, forms another, until suddenly one can’t help but acknowledge the knit of each word.


Take for example, the image of this goat. On first glance it appears to emanate a language all its own, yet I continuously struggle to grasp even the slightest melody of its spirits inner song, which I realize, could remain too deeply intact for one to gauge. This shadow of a body caught in another hour, has become a fixture of sorts to my story, embedded here in this spot.


Yet as I reflect back a day or so ago when I first approached this scene, my interest had not been peaked. I was not at all bemused by the way in which the goat had silently leapt within the parametres of my view. The sight of it was nothing at all, something that I’d probably barely ever remember.


Yet now, not only my attention, but my whole soul is suspended, however briefly, to the warmth of its attributes as it comes to me, saved in this light. My thoughts begin to sway langorously as my eyes stare into those eyes scanning mine with a somewhat reflective opacity and I am centred in the lull of our gaze.


This figure fixed forever to this space and looking as though caught in mid-dream amid the drift of a September haze, leaves me in search of an answer. The question being, "Where is it within each minute of our day, that time presents us with a clear statement in acknowledgment of what is and what we initially see?” Surely, like mist from a river that lifts in the hush of an autumn day, this query too will be lifted, when by happenstance, the answer is presented within a moment’s wonder. Such is the folly of my long-winded thinking.