Black Out Shades

Falling asleep at 8 pm most nights is easy enough for me, given how early my natural east coast alarm forces my eyes open each morning. Doesn’t matter to me whether darkness has fallen. But Lisa needs a dark room to sleep in, and the summer sun in NoCo sets pretty late. So when we first arrived Lisa picked up Black Out Shades for the bedrooms. Fair enough. They do an amazing job. But Lisa is the only one who draws them.

Last night, I left Lisa downstairs with the next two generations – still very animated – and withdrew to the Tower with Blue, who knows I never like to sleep alone. So, Lisa’s Black Out Shades had yet to be drawn on our large bay bedroom window.

Now, given my weird form of color blindness, I often cannot pick up the subtle hues of the color spectrum, but that doesn’t stop me from appreciating the beauty of any given moment. It’s not that I don’t see color. I just don’t see it the same way vision normative people do. Since it’s all that I’ve ever known, I don’t feel the least bit deprived, although it has made for interesting moments like when I wore two different colored shoes to Court one day.

But I digress.

Last night, returning from the en suite after one last piss before hitting the sheets, I glanced out the north facing bedroom window and found myself transfixed at the view of the foothills to my west. The image looked like John Constable had come along and finished a painting by Andrew Wyeth. “Cirrus over Claire’s World.”

And while I know that the clouds and horizon were tinged with vibrant pastels that were lost on these eyes, the power of the visual aggregate came from its shadows. The human world would soon be asleep, leaving everything to the nocturnals, like me, when I awoke a few hours later.

That is the world of my imagination. Out there, among the shadows, where the ley lines meet.

First round of the three night new moon. New beginnings. That made the trip out to feed the mules a few hours later dark enough for me to rely in equal parts on sight, sound and instinct until I spotted the warm soft glow of the heaters partially obscured by the large figures of Claire and Honey by the opening of the barn door. By the time I retraced my steps, listening the the crunching sounds of mule teeth on fresh fruits and veggies behind me, my eyes had fully adapted and I could have tiptoed through a minefield without any problem.

I’ve come to really enjoy the night. There are no pastels to miss.

But the day returns from the east as it always does – I really must clean that basement office window – and luckily it’s a Tuesday.

So, my fine, five readers, get that last cuppa in you, grab that morning paper and start whatever commute stands between you and productivity. The worst 20% of the workweek is behind us, 25% if we discount Friday.

Me, I’ve got kiddies and kitties to cuddle and rounds to make. Then law.

While we are all at it, let’s keep our eyes open to the beauty that surrounds us – its always there – and make this day a great one.