Returning home from an extended bout of cat-sitting, I find myself pondering the words of Odysseus, stating to King Alcinous, “Sunny Ithaca is my home”. What is obvious from this statement is that Odysseus was not referring to Ithaca, NY. Normally, Ithaca winters are a cold and snowy monochrome environment, and most of the birds comply with this dress code (though blue jays and cardinals are notable exceptions). I like to think, though, that our dearth of light makes us appreciate the sun’s infrequent visits that much more.
Monday was just such a day, with thick grey scuds being torn across the sky by the relentless wind. Such was its fury that blue wounds would open fleetingly in the grey sky before being bound by its dark woolen stitches. From time to time brilliant rays would burst forth from these blue-grey scabs, stunning the senses with immediate contrast and the revelation that shadows exist. And every once in a while you might just find yourself smiling because of it.