By Julia Koslowsky
I’ve heard the word, but I have no idea what it means.
To put it poetically, I live in a world of Eternal Darkness. There’s nothing poetic about it.
Lying on my back against the cold, creaky floorboards, I stretch my hands upward. There is a window in the wall above me. My mother says there are sunbeams that shine through in the afternoon. They’re very warm.
I can feel it on my fingers.
I close my eyes, choosing to forget, if only for a moment. There is only the sun and its warmth. When I open my eyes, I will see the familiar colours of the wooden house, the window, the trees outside, the sky, the sun.
Mother says sunlight is mostly yellow, but darkens to orange and red just before night falls.
I have heard these words, but they have no meaning.
Colour eludes me, floating just out of reach.
I open my eyes, and see–
I see the black of the room, the dark of the window, the whisper of trees.
I wiggle my fingers, arms still uplifted.
But I can still feel it.
Just because you can’t see something, doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
I hear it shining through the window.
I smell it in the air as it covers the world.
I taste it in the wind.
I feel it wrap me in its warm embrace.
Light is tangible to me. Even in the Darkness.