Outside my window I notice that the light reflects off of the grass and the beige paint, and that it seems to be emanating from the sky itself. The warmth of it is like a power that bounces off and bursts forth, and I'm going to sit outside, under the sky, where the warmth can cover me and soothe my nerves.
This light is beautiful.
The green of the grass is bright and alive, and the slender blades tremble in the breeze.
The only visitors along the street are the passing shadows of mailboxes and stop signs; all is quiet and waiting.
A tiny spider landed gently on the pavement, floating downward on his silken web from his tree perch to the world below, blown loose by a sudden gust of wind.