I guess one of the worst things about living in darkness is missing what everyone else sees. When I was younger I believed I had to keep up, but I never could. Blindness in a seeing world is issolating. When I was around people I learned that they didn’t know what I went through so how could they consider it? It wasn’t until I began spending time by myself that I noticed the world was for me to experience too. Everyone saw a sun rise, I felt its warmth bathe my skin, its beams made apparent how old the day was. I could sleep hours during the day and wake up able to orient myself to the time without help. I left windows open, letting the fresh morning tell me its forecast for the day.

Most people looked to the sky or the news to know of rain or season’s change while I tasted it. I would feel the build up of nature’s anticipation to the sky opening. No greater fragrance revived me than the refreshing cleanse of heaven’s tears upon the earth’s face. The rich soil fermented its gift sprouting forward life. Fall tasted of crisp days and pumpkin lattes, winter made wonderful chilled days and warmth of hearts and spirit, spring brought life and hope, summer enriched joy and carefree ease.

My hands have the most fun knowing the world. The tickle, of grass, or the bending and splashing of cool water. Texture and temperature are great guides. I learned glass can get as hot as metal, and that satin can be just as pleasureable to feel as new woolen blankets. A puppy, with its silk fur, or a senior dog with its greasey coat. A child’s chunky arms, are different from a grandma’s aged hands. The skins of trees can be tough and painful or smooth and like wax. The cool shade of a tree tells me what kind of tree it is and how big it is over my head. My bare feet enjoy a walk on the shifting warm sand of a beach or over the tumbling protruding river stones at the bottom of an ankle high streaming creek.

And of course the sounds of the world are what I can only imagine as color to my mind. A young boy and his high pitched breaking voice mumbles with a sweet tempered girl. The gravel voice of a father as he talks to his young daughter, her voice young and innocent. The crashing of waves breaking on the surf, reminds me of wind as it tumbles through heaven bound pine trees and how even that sounds like the oncoming of a train. The animals and their languages, the people and their moods. All of this I can take notice of without ever knowing what my eyes pass over but never take in. Maybe sight is held back from some people so they can see beyond where others merely look, and feel more deeply what others think they know.