The first sunset after daylight savings begins is the most glorious sight.
For one, it happens way later in the day then it has for months. But there’s something else about it too. It’s different. It’s golder. It’s deeper.
I find myself drawn to it. I find that the light draws something out of me.
It draws out memories.
We were kids then. Early on my mom taught us at home. So when spring came we could go outside in the morning before school.
The sun would light up the swing set. The dew on the grass would dampen our feet. The light would glint off the yellow slide. The greens would be brilliant.
And we’d swing and carry on for a little until my mom would settle us down for school.
I used to look at the top of the same tree every day before my dad drove us to school. We’d all stand under the basketball net waiting for my dad to back his car out of the garage and let us in. And I’d stare up at that one tree that caught the light in the early morning. It was so green and the leaves looked so small.
It’s funny how distance makes a difference.
But I can still see it in my mind.
Just last year I drove down Steffin Hill Road into Beaver Falls every morning. The sun would just be starting it’s daily task of burning the mist out of the valley. It was like driving into a mystery, a bright and glorious mystery.
By the time I parked my car in the parking lot at Geneva College, the sun would have forced the mist into the valley over the river. It was an amicable relationship, though, the sun and mist flirting rather than battling.
Eventually the mist would acquiesce and let the light win, banished for that day, at least.
Now, every morning I turn the corner onto a street that drives up a hill toward the sun. I turn that last corner and am forced to hold my hand out against the light. But oh, what a glorious light it is. The combination of danger and awareness of life is shocking. There, staring into the light, do you come face to face with the possibility of wreck and wonder.
And in a few year, the story will be different.
But the light will always return at this time.
One thing won’t change though: I’ll still remember.
I’ll remember the past springs. The way it was when I was little, the way it was when I was in junior high, the way it was in college, and all the ways after.
The light marks the time.
These are nostalgic days.
Come, hold us in your light, oh Lord. Bring us into the shrouded glory of the green. Let the spring light warm our souls, so cold and quiet. Bring again the din of nature. The birds. The frogs. The breeze. Let us feel it again. Awaken us to the beauty. But let us not forget the past. The season we’ve just come through. The seasons past. The springs past. Our life past. Bring us the memories and the growth and the goodness.
All for your glory,