My daughter gave me a night light for my birthday. The swap in roles seems to be complete, in that it was once me who bought her small sources of illumination to push back the darkness. That pitch black where monsters hide. But the bulbs I plugged into her walls, even the one with a picture of a fairy, were easily found at a hardware store and replaced if broken. The gift that arrived in a box marked FRAGILE with generous amounts of bubble wrap is completely unique. 

It holds a secret. There is embedded within the shade three pictures from our recent reunion. Over the years I have been enchanted with the possibility of photographs on mugs, and men's ties. One Christmas, my son and I both had the same great idea, so there were multiples under the tree. But this gift ignores the use of ink completely. The thickness or thinness of the shade is what creates the image. I have absolutely no reference for that, but it is the explanation she gave me. Her friend made it in a 3D printer, which is another addition to an ever-growing list of unsolved mysteries. 

This week I hemmed two kinds of curtains. The drapes were heavy damask, with lush colors. They block the sun from peeking into the room. The other set were sheer, and have no presumption of holding light hostage. There is a time for both kinds of linens, and they add to the beauty of where they hang. 

The volley between more and less light goes on all over the planet, pivoting on the dimes that are Summer and Winter Solstice. But how does the subtlety of luminosity also manage to become a recognizable picture of my family? 

Don't answer that. I wouldn't understand, and I want to live in the magic. It helps to keep the monsters at bay.