A spot of brightness in a dull world

I watch the light constantly - it lustrates me, I lustrate it (how I love Latin versatility) - I wonder at the everpresent gleam in the sky and the forms it takes, twisting itself into new variations through the seasons and tempests. I drive to Champaign in the early morning, marveling at the gray sky and greening stalks glowing by contrasts - they seem to effect their own light and proclaim their verdant, vital growth to the quiet gloom of the sky, softly shining with dew and diffusion. Another day, seeing the soft pinks and hard golds of the early sun striking the dulled leaves of dead corn, having to turn the visor so the rising sun doesn't strike me in the eyes when I change lanes; as cold sets in and the evening creeps earlier by the day, and the morning sun seems wan and tired through my apartment window, feebly striking Attila, now penned in a lowly yogurt container after the disastrous wind whipped him across our steps to lie ignobly broken in the ground-cover, all my fault for setting him on the mailbox on a delightful autumn afternoon (a tad breezy) to rejoice in that transient flame from the heavens.