In the morning, between the hours of eight and ten, light shines forth in the front of our home, beaming proudly, announcing the arrival of a new dawn. The chandelier in our dining room, sparkly and shiny, radiates like a fountain of new pennies or a river of diamonds cascading on a steep mountaintop. It gives us that extra nudge to “Wake up! Wake up!” as we slowly eat our oatmeal and sip our coffee gathered round the table beneath it.
In the afternoon, the light shifts upward to the second floor of our home, illuminating the bedrooms, giving them so much life. Stella’s room, along with ours I suppose, is the sunniest spot in our home with it’s considerable amount of windows. It speaks of warmth and happiness allowing light to creep in no matter the circumstance, for it is during this midday slice of sunshine that we trek up the wooden staircase to read and play before retiring to naps. The kids love laying on the floor in front of the wall of windows where the sunlight has been present for hours warming the wooden floorboards. Stella will lay there on her back as Theodore and I throw balls back and forth “getting cozy” without the need of her blanket because without fail, it is always warm there.
And then as the hours fade into the early evening, our kitchen, the true hearth of our home, is flooded with the most spectacular golden light. It pours in, igniting the room deliberately so, making the most inviting place to chop and stir around the butcher block island grounding the center of the room. That light stays put for a few hours before drifting off into what becomes moonlight. It is then that we light candles or a start a fire in the living room, allowing makeshift sunshine to warm our toes within the walls of our home.
And after snuggling in, we end our day with the dim light of a lamp overhead to read a page or two of a book, only to wake in a few short hours to chase the light once more.