Sightedness & Sighted-not-ness

I look at my arm. There are red spots on it. No, silly, it's not measels- it's the sun shining through the little holes where the venetiain blind peices are connected by their string. Now I'm noticing red light splayed out on the counter- not a counter but a wooden radiator cover constructed by my adroit brother Tom. geez, it's on the pillow now also. God it's on my shoulder now.

What is up with life being super wonderful? Ehat need is there of rhetoric when we have beautiful red light to look at first thing after sunrise? Aw no, it's orange already. Soon it will be yellow and then just plain old white.

Anyway, thank you powers-that-be, Mr. God, Mrs. God .... whoever is responsible.

How many times have I marveled at redness in evening light? When ever have I felt grateful for the rednessw of morning light? How will I keep my physics-of-dust-accumulating-throughout-the-day-explanation of redness at evening?

It's like yellowish orange on the pillow. The wooden top is in shadow. My arm bears no jewels, not red ones, not orange ones, none.

It's practically white on the pillow, but there are slightly yellowish beads on my arm. They're shrinking.

Life is lived in gulps and moments and the spaces in between these.

The pillow is in shadow. I've got little bits of light on my torso with a hint of color. That must mean it's time for bed.