Headlamp Stroll
Wearing a headlamp on this morning's early walk with Copper, I felt like a Cyclops treading my suburban lane. It's a strange sensation to emit light from your forehead — both convenient and powerful, even vaguely godlike.
But mostly, it's freeing, which means I can better juggle leash and doggie bag and still have one hand tucked in my pocket because, well, it's freezing cold out there.
In this season of light, when homes are decked out in garlands of white and colored bulbs, when my eyes search the darkness for the faintest trace of dawn, it feels good to emit light, as if within my own frail human self I carry what hope and heart I need. This is not true, of course. I know how much I need others. But for a moment, in the dark, it felt otherwise.
But mostly, it's freeing, which means I can better juggle leash and doggie bag and still have one hand tucked in my pocket because, well, it's freezing cold out there.
In this season of light, when homes are decked out in garlands of white and colored bulbs, when my eyes search the darkness for the faintest trace of dawn, it feels good to emit light, as if within my own frail human self I carry what hope and heart I need. This is not true, of course. I know how much I need others. But for a moment, in the dark, it felt otherwise.
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