Morning first creeps into the Boston condo through the front rooms. The sun manages to spill directly into the space, especially when the trees are bare, as they are now. But that’s not usually where I am when I first wake in the morning. For that, you must step further into the condo, past the small marble wet bar and mirror, and into the sanctuary of the bedroom.
The light here is different. It is diffused, softer, less focused. The sun won’t shine directly in until later in the afternoon. For now, it is merely the light of the sky – no unexceptional light to be sure, but quieter in its way, more subdued and less glaring.
It fills the space slowly, beginning as the faintest glow, in shades of gray and mauve and slate. It doesn’t march in like the sun in the front room, it insinuates itself more subtly, delicately, gently.
It doesn’t jar anyone awake, it doesn’t rile with the screech of a rooster. Its nudge is careful, more of a caress or a kiss. The slightest of touches to wake a slumbering beast.
There is no alarm clock here. There is no shrill ring-tone. There is only the slowly-growing glow of light.
