drunk with light...

"It is time I came back to my real life after this voyage to an island with no name, where I lay down at sunrise drunk with light."                                                      
                                                                                                                                -May Sarton

Lover of light.  You will find my blinds open (or missing) and my windows flung wide.  It is a chilly 66 degrees on a cloudy April 15.  My feet are cold.  I have them wedged and warmed under the sleeping dog, my sweet Butler, as I write. The outside is a welcome green guest and the ever-present wind is here to chat.  Sometimes, if I am watering my tiny garden or feeding the birds, I take a little rest in my yellow chair stationed in front of the garage, rest my head on its back, close my eyes, and listen for the sounds the day is making.  Rustling palmetto branches, far-away barking dog, purring mower, frightened siren, a laugh here or there in the distance, the silent smile on my face (making the silent noise of happiness), birds flying, the squirrel stealing seeds from the yellow feeder, footsteps, a skateboard rolling along scratching the pavement, and a small plane flying in from the west and now high over the marsh.  The wind is a noisy guest.  If you don't listen, it will pull you in and fluff you about.  It blows the chair pillows across the make-shift drive, slaps the palmetto fronds until they whistle, and stings my brow with sand. I wish I could understand what it is saying.  Rain satisfies thirst.  Light gives life.  Darkness is a respite from the things we learn in the light. But I cannot determine what it is the wind so desperately wants me to know.  I've always loved the light and the rain and now after years on this sandy spit of land, I've grown to love the wind.