“Truly, it is in the darkness that one finds the light, so when we are in sorrow, then this light is nearest of all to us.” -Meister Eckhart In everything I write, there is light. It colours my words like paintbox shades, I see in shadows and falling flames. Somedays I think I have forgotten how to write. I pick up a memory and the quality of the light comes to me. Today feels like October, the light is diffused through the strato cumulus clouds. It’s a blindfold for heaven, (as I read in Virgil yesterday). The light is diffused and soft, it’s still morning and there is promise in…