Osler's Razor

I was raised to love the last light of day.

My dad is an artist; by that I don't just mean that it is his vocation, but that it is in his heart. He sees the world as a collage of light and color, a riot of beauty. Like many people who see the world that way, he is drawn to long shadows and the soft light of the end of the day. On a trip, we might stop for a moment so he could take a picture or just see it. Now I do that sometimes.

We are drawn to boundaries: the beach, for example, the boundary between the land and sea. Dusk is like that, too, the boundary between the known and seen and the unknown and shrouded.

That last light calms my heart. It is my favorite time of day. Like most things that we love, I can't say exactly why.

Part of it, though, is that last light takes away harshness and reveals the beauty in things-- puts forward the simple line and color that is the essence of a tree or a face or the curve of a path.

At its best, faith does that for some of us, sometimes. It lets us see the best in the world, and transforms the mundane into the beautiful. It creates a warmth that was not there. It allows for shadows, and the unknown, even while revealing truths. It suffuses all. And, maybe best of all, we know it will be there tomorrow.