Today is the perfect day to finish reading “All the Light We Cannot See.” It may still be grey and damp, but spring warmth is finally here. I am sprawled on the couch with a hot cup of tea, NO blanket and slippers, and the windows open for the first time since October. After months of being sealed off from the outside world, it is good to hear the out-of-doors waft indoors again. Drowning out the otherwise perfect silence is the wild cacophony of bird song. Holy cow, what a racket! This has been a long, cold winter for all of us, apparently.
Anyway, today, as I mentioned, is the perfect day to finish another wonderfully told story that leaves you wistful for lost love; for meaningful, but sadly fleeting encounters, and wholly grateful that, were it not for the generosity of someone in my past, I might not now be comfortably sprawled on a couch reading a fantastic book. The feeling I have is not unlike today’s weather: Still grey and rainy, but with the first happy and hopeful glimpse of spring, however small.
I’ve also been ruminating on “crossed paths” since finishing the book. Have I made a difference in someone’s life with whom I’ve crossed paths? What years-long fate had to be in play for me and the other person to even meet, let alone develop a rapport, however brief? Not to be heavy-handed, or sentimental, but this book really does make you think about the randomness of life, both heroic and tragic, and of mindfulness, as it’s called these days, in the wake of all of it.
These thoughts are why l love creating stories. As writers, we look to bring the mystical and mysterious into the light; make it dance in and around the nooks and crannies of imagination. “All the Light We Cannot See” made me think, made me reminisce, and left me feel enlivened.
My God, what a fun thing it is to be inspired to tell a good story and to write, yes?