A ray of darkness
appeared, shining the dust motes
from angels to bats
I once experienced the opposite of this Wolfku: stepping into a dusty, badly insulated loft—so badly insulated, in fact, that you could see daylight between the vertical planks that made up both inside and outside walls.
As I reached the top of the ladder and gazed into this loft, all was dead calm in the semi-darkness, and the air was clear, but once I stepped off the ladder and on to the extremely dusty floor, clouds of fine dust reached for the ceiling in huge, brilliantly lit sheets of gap-entered sunlight. Brilliantly.
So magnificently I literally lost my breath for a bit, in stunned and delighted awe.
As an aside, I later wrote a song to celebrate that moment of magic, called Dust and Sunrays (what else?)
And then, the other day during my Pacific walk, I imagined the reverse: dark clouds suddenly obscure the sun and rays of darkness scream into the loft between the planks and the trillion dancing angels of a sudden become so many bickering bats.
I’m not sure this could ever actually happen—in fact, I am sure this would not happen in a real loft, no matter how dusty and no matter how strong (and suddenly dark) the sun; it’s just one of those delightful images that now and pop up into my mind out of god-knows-where and sings “Look at me, look at me, look at me.”
And I usually do; and just as usually, the richer for looking.