In the dark waters, unseen …….
mud from the river bed smears the eyes … silt of the earth, brown, gritty and grey.
She is hidden, submerged, ready to be born, ready but maybe not prepared for some explosion of revelation.
Surfacing … emerging ….
In the light of early morning there is blinding intensity, colour … eyes shaded to cope with shafting light of sunbeams, arrow straight … all the colours of white light, split into a never-ending spectrum ….. bursting sparkling eddies or turbulent cataract. Salmon leap and sparkle, striving for calmer waters ….. down again to the safety of soft, shadowy grey.
Sight is blinding.
Sight is wonderful
But sometimes the eyes close and contemplate the moving images of dreams …..
….. under the light …. in the darkness where hope is constant and waiting is a patient thing.
Is she ready for this light, this blinding?
Perhaps light is a truly fearsome thing.