My front porch light is out. And, it's not as simple as changing the light bulb. Of course. Much like finding childcare. Never simple. Anyway, my front yard is dark. At night, I leave the light on just inside the door; I can see a sliver of its light outside my bedroom window, just beyond the lilac tree. Last year, after Ed died, the back porch light at the old house went out. For weeks, it was dark. Dark, dark. I didn't get it fixed because I was dealing with other pressing issues like not losing my mind. I dreaded that darkness because it seemed to have no soul, no out, like a black hole. I dreaded it because it mirrored what I felt. I will never forget that dark space and my strange, if intimate, connection to it.
This year, a year later, the porch light is out again. In the new house. But, it's not as dark. I am wrestling with the familiar, exhausting reality of daily frustration, isolation and the slow process of building a new life and identity. But, it's not as dark.
I've been taking pictures of the house when I think of it. I never took "before" pictures, but do have some after. The first one, below, is the Southwest corner of the living room. Before, this wall was covered with a big slat of paneling painted light, faded mauve. Now, there are new walls with insulation underneath. The paint is "Nimbus Grey," which is the perfect blue.The picture below it shows the front porch with its newer blue door, part of the front yard and the walk to the door.
The last picture I took yesterday. It shows the blue, blue sky that has been around for the last two months. And, one of my favorite trees (yes, I have at least four favorite trees!): I love the deep red maple leaves. I include this only to document the season, a fall that has been uncommonly sunny and bright (which feels alternately helpful and mocking). There are more pictures. For now, though, it's about light, blue hues, shadows and slivers of hope.
