THIS MAJESTICAL ROOF

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This brave, o'erhanging firmament
This majestical roof
Fretted with golden fire . . .

This morning when i arose, there was a constant flickering of light in the room, and i was at first confused as to the origin. I went to the window, and the northern and western horizons were alive with lightning bolts. The flashes were almost constant, and quite awe inspiring. As i drove to work later, the sun was casting rays of light through breaks in the clouds, huge thunderheads loomed up in other places, heavy rain fell, and the lightning continued. Which set me thinking of how much the cycle of natural light is important to me. I was on my way to work, which is, after all, just a job with which i get my substance to continue life. (I like my job, and feel i do well, but it is not the point of my existence.) But the "rising" and "setting" of the sun, the light of the moon, the power of storms--these all have a very powerful influence on my response to the world which i inhabit.

Howboutchou? Any thoughts of the cycles, small and large, of nature? Day and night, the seasons, the weather--how do you react?

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Huh.

I'm a night owl, always have been, "my time of day is the dark time...", but the sozlet decided to wake up at the break of dawn today, a very rare occurrence. I love staying up late and I need my 8 hours, so I almost never see the early morning light, even though I adore it. The particular loveliness of the dew-festooned grass, long shadows, my yellow black-eyed susans in the yellow light.

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A stormy sky certainly has the power to move the spirit; an observation not lost on dramatists and filmmakers, who set mood by using nature's moods. And Wagner- where would he be without his thunderclaps?
I like hillwalking as a pastime, and prefer to be up there when the weather is "challenging"; winter conditions, preferably- as long as the views are not obscured for long. That stirs the spirit, and is uplifting.
Reference: John Keats, "Ode to the West Wind"

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Daylight is my joy, Setana.
As you said, the things I DO to have sustenance for survival are peripheral, my life revolves around light and sound. Totally involving other people.

As now, I am happy to make your 'written' acquaintance. I enjoyed your beginning words for this topic- very pleasant.

signed,
MsRose

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Miss Rose, those are the words of the Melancholy Dane, Hamlet, and taken very much out of context . . . but suiting my purpose here very well . . .

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Extreme weather excites me. I'm not talking about high or low temperatures. I'm talking about weather that asserts itself. Weather that is nature's power. Blinding rain, furious wind, lightning storms. Even a hurricane can awaken something in me, frightening though it may be.

I am intoxicated by snow. I'm joyous when it snows. I love the effect snow has on light and sound. And it reminds me of childhood days when snow was a great toy.

I'm invigorated by cold weather and enervated by hot weather. I can't wait for summer to be over.

Light seems to affect me very little or not at all.

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The 'light painter' within me is always looking at light, shadows, etc etc and basically metering them all for exposure, although mostly subconcious.
I like all light but, that which is different than flat or normal light is always a lovely surprise.

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Lightning and thunder are things I love. You know the old adage 1 second equals 1 mile when counting after a flash. Anytime you can't reach one it's really close. This happened three times in a storm last week. Wonderful boomers and brilliant flashes. Thanks, God.

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Re: THIS MAJESTICAL ROOF

Setanta wrote:

...the "rising" and "setting" of the sun, the light of the moon, the power of storms--

I'm an outdoor person and these things you mention are some of my most favorite things, equalled only by a strong flowing tide either flooding in or flowing out, bird songs and animal calls, & the fragrances on the wind. I am thrilled to smell a storm approach and especially to feel or at least hear the first few raindrops. If the wind comes up and I get to hear it as it begins to move the trees, well, I like that a lot, too. It makes me feel alive and, I know this sounds corny, in touch with myself.

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Corny though that may sound, that is exactly the experience which makes these things important to me.

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You were too polite to mention earlier, I was thinking of P B Shelley when I cited Keats.

Nothing daunted, -why let the facts interfere with a good story- I offer this poem by Charles Kingsley:

http://www.fitzwimarc.org.uk/tfday/2003/jan17.htm
"Ode to the Nort-East Wind"

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This story in not to do with light exactly, but colour. That's what we British call color.
I had a very vivid and quite strange experience, which came about like this:

About fifteen years ago I had a wonderful holiday, sailing on an old two-masted boat, under sail, through the Hebridean Islands of Scotland. I love the sea, and the seascapes, and as you may know the Western Isles is an area renowned for its beauty. I had the most marvellous time.
Anyway, for a week, without realising it, I had been looking almost exclusively at only blues, and greens, and greys and black.
When we returned and started back along the coast road, I was astonished by the sight of the red autumn colours of the leaves on the trees, and the warm browns of the bracken. It was so vivid, and made such a powerful impression on me, I have never forgotten it.

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bobsmyth...we must have been counting in unison...thanks for the company Wink

I think its not just feeling or seeing more in life but, realizing it, and living it.
Im corny..I know...and I certainly dont have a single problem with it...neither should anyone else who appreciates the little things. Smile

Funny McTag...every time Ive gone to visit Mum in the desert..I cant wait to get somewhere and see some green...she just doesnt have hardly any...although..she has lots more sky...I think I need an even mix of both.

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I am mad for sunrise, and the early morning light.
Sunset leaves me cold. People are often saying - oh look at the beautiful sunset - and i 'see' it - appreciate the colours etc - but I don't feel it the way I feel a sunrise.

Storms are good in their own way. I like a long steady heavy rain or one of those snow storms that goes on for days. There's just something so settling about them. A quick, fast-moving storm with cold and warm fronts meeting with lots of lightning and thunder has some excitement for me, but not the same wonderful blanketing feeling of that non-stop rain or snow. I do, however, love the smell at the front of a lightning storm.

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And, the waving wheat sure smells sweet when the wind blows right behind the rain.

Woodland, in summer, after a shower of rain. That's nice, especially if the air is still. The moist air, and the trees, blanket sounds. Contrasting scents abound. Magic.

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I liked eBeth's comment about a prolonged fall of snow. Something else which i greatly enjoy about that is the quality of sound. There is a sursuration during the fall of snow, just on the edge of hearing. When the snow has fallen, and the air is still, there is a "sound stage" quality of immediacy of sound. I am hearing impaired, so subtlies of sound usually escape me--i greatly appreciate the "crisp" quality of the smallest of sounds on a street or in a forest clearing blanketed with snow.

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Hmmm, just reading this and thinking of great sounds when a tree frog began to chirp outside the window behind me. I've left it open to cool the house.

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Mmmm, ahhhhh, snow...

McTag reminds me of a similar experience I've had, in coming back to the redwood forests of the California coast after many days in the deserts of the southern part of the state and in the central valley (only recently irrigated, in the larger scheme of things). The saturated greens of the brush and the ferns, the suddenly vivid orange-red of the bark, the topaz-blue of the ocean down the hill. I love looking at landscape transitions from cars and trains, watching the earth change (and smelling it change, too). Used to live near a pass in the Sierras, and would drive up and over and down the other side every so often just to see the shifts at the different altitudes, and the decidedly different feel on the east and west sides of the range.

(Certainly can't match anybody else's poetic images here today.)

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As a child, i was mad for thunderstorms. Sometimes, the air gets a yellowish cast to it (the sunlight slanting through the dust, prolly, but who cares), and the clouds get wildly roiling, with strange shades of gray--slate, grey-green, yellow-green-gray--then you know a big boomer is on the way. My grandmother hated them (although i didn't know that until much later), and would stand at the back door hollerin' for me to come inside. I knew i was in for it later, but i didn't care. I would run toward the storm, leaping into the air in that jubilant, awkward way that children have, ahootin' and ahollerin', and full of the feelin' of real life in the here and now. With the first heavy drops of rain, i would run back to the house, laughin' uproarisouly. I knew if i got soaked, it would go worse when i finally went in.

I still love thunderstorms, but usually show more decorum these days.

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By the by, Peppermintpatiodog, ain't no one keepin' score, there ain't gonna be no grade, there ain't gonna be no quizz. Whatever you write is just fine.

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