Impressionism through one's eyes
Friday was a fairly nasty day for me. I had one of the worst migraines I could remember - mind-bending pain for about twelve hours, with regular stabbing pains for another twenty-four after that. Much of Friday was spent either lying in bed reading, asleep, or tolerating the computer for a few brief hours.
But in some ways, it was useful. I was having a hard time sleeping Friday night - not from the pain, but because I had already slept close to 15 hours counting the previous night's sleep, and I just wasn't that tired. I drifted in and out, getting glasses of water and occasionally reading.
But at around 6 in the morning, I got up and got to see something beautiful. I got up and went without my glasses - dangerous in unfamiliar territory, but I know my own home well enough to walk on through without a problem. I might have -8 diopter vision in my good eye, but I don't need any more to get a drink of water from the pitcher in the fridge.
But as I looked out, I saw the thunderstorm almost nobody got to see because most people were asleep. When I'm without my glasses, I drink up color as much as I can; it's the only way I can navigate. But with this color, this unbelievably rich purple, it was almost overwhelming. It was like I was afraid that if I got glasses on, it would be less purple.
And purple is usually regal, or sometimes feminine, or sometimes quirky. Maybe it was the tinge of grey from the rainstorm, but this purple was oddly comforting. There was a strength to it, but it was like a soothing whisper across everything. Things would be washed away, and I'd just have a peaceful feeling.
But the most vivid part was the lightning. I don't quite understand why, but when the lightning flashed, for brief moments, I saw the lightning itself clearly. Maybe because it's so intense that even my weak eyes can trace its path. Maybe it was merely my mind's eye filling in how they were supposed to look, in the midst of half-asleep and headache-suffering weariness. But I swear, I could trace the path of the lightning. In a world of vague outlines and blotches of color, it was sharp, defined, and real.
There's not too much else to it, really. I took a sharp breath, finished my water, and slunk back to bed. I wasn't totally sure what to make of it, except it was my own personal moment of beauty, one that I could describe but never really share. It was one of those things that, even if someone else could see it, you can't explain it beyond knowing that it's one of those brief glimpses when you know there is something beautiful out there, hiding.
But in some ways, it was useful. I was having a hard time sleeping Friday night - not from the pain, but because I had already slept close to 15 hours counting the previous night's sleep, and I just wasn't that tired. I drifted in and out, getting glasses of water and occasionally reading.
But at around 6 in the morning, I got up and got to see something beautiful. I got up and went without my glasses - dangerous in unfamiliar territory, but I know my own home well enough to walk on through without a problem. I might have -8 diopter vision in my good eye, but I don't need any more to get a drink of water from the pitcher in the fridge.
But as I looked out, I saw the thunderstorm almost nobody got to see because most people were asleep. When I'm without my glasses, I drink up color as much as I can; it's the only way I can navigate. But with this color, this unbelievably rich purple, it was almost overwhelming. It was like I was afraid that if I got glasses on, it would be less purple.
And purple is usually regal, or sometimes feminine, or sometimes quirky. Maybe it was the tinge of grey from the rainstorm, but this purple was oddly comforting. There was a strength to it, but it was like a soothing whisper across everything. Things would be washed away, and I'd just have a peaceful feeling.
But the most vivid part was the lightning. I don't quite understand why, but when the lightning flashed, for brief moments, I saw the lightning itself clearly. Maybe because it's so intense that even my weak eyes can trace its path. Maybe it was merely my mind's eye filling in how they were supposed to look, in the midst of half-asleep and headache-suffering weariness. But I swear, I could trace the path of the lightning. In a world of vague outlines and blotches of color, it was sharp, defined, and real.
There's not too much else to it, really. I took a sharp breath, finished my water, and slunk back to bed. I wasn't totally sure what to make of it, except it was my own personal moment of beauty, one that I could describe but never really share. It was one of those things that, even if someone else could see it, you can't explain it beyond knowing that it's one of those brief glimpses when you know there is something beautiful out there, hiding.