By Elaine Knudtson
Morning sun drenches the gullies with an amber glow.
The waterfall of light cascades down the hill as the sun takes its place overhead.
Soon the colours fade into the predictable background of green and beige and gray as the cars crawl up and down the ribbon of road like ants leaving the colony.
When they return at day’s end, the light will again appear for a moment, to those with eyes to see, casting shadows on the hill until the darkness descends like a shade.
What is the true color of that hill? Amber, green or black?
Where does its essence lie?
Moments of brilliance followed by hours of shade;
The promise followed by the unexceptional,
Potential followed by the mundane,
Illumination dependent on the Son to reveal her beauty.
Can I be content to wait in the shadows for that brief moment of enlightenment?