All the Light We Cannot See
words by Catherine Ritchie
“I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea. It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening. Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins. Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over it like beads.
It is my favorite thing, I think, that I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties. It seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.”
— Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See
Spring is here, and with it, color returns to both land and sea.
On my morning walk, I catch sight of the season’s first daffodils prodding their green stems up through the damp earth. Red-breasted robins sing out from the branches of the cherry trees, just starting to bud. It will still be weeks before their branches are lit with blushing pink blossoms, but if you look closely, you can see the new growth just beginning—the way the pale green leaves of spring join the darker palate of winter.
I count the colors as I walk—silver sky, copper trees, golden light—reveling in the landscape that “seems big enough to contain everything anyone could ever feel.”