It is an accident of my early arising this morning – at eight o’clock to be precise – that, having completed my plodding meanderings by noon, the remainder of my worthwhile performance has necessitated squinting my eyes to overcome at least some of the radiance whilst seated at my desk looking upriver. Many times I have contemplated the usefulness of repositioning my desk so it is not directly facing the floor-to-ceiling windows; but always I readapt my original scheme in spite of the temporary exposure to brilliance.

While continuing to keep watch on things – checking my diary, catching up on the news, sharing gossip with acquaintances – I have been overtaken by the persuasion of a brilliant day. Perhaps a more astute observation is that I prefer sunshine to everything else. This, like most religions, is uncompromising, facilitating a speedier devotion to the particular theme. Notwithstanding whatever I may assert about the value of knowledge, I perceive there to be a predominantly commercial tone to conventional news reports, the attention to which frequently reminds me of those audio books of fictional Who Dunnits. They may qualify as entertaining but I doubt their sufficiency for moral improvement. And I regret to say that I fully understand the inclination of those on the media hot seat to dismiss the alarm of hoi polloi. Basically royalty avoids mixing with the common herd. It is not a charitable opinion but one which has forever distinguished the great divide from which each of us is inseparable.

I regard this as an admission of truth – as unsettling as it may be.  The truth to which I allude is that people, provoked by the hazard or fortune of birth, are bound very often to respond to life’s exigencies in similar manner. Stepping into the arena of willing gladiators is work. Part of the resemblance of the parties on either side of the fence is that each of them has the capacity for good and bad. Yet I have never fully adopted the penal priority for punishment. I recall for example what I believe was the First Nation’s choice of estrangement from the community in lieu of flagrant injury as retribution.

But, as I say, my opinion is irrelevant. Whether we’re listening to preachers or podcasters, we’ll decide for ourselves. The ingredients which govern or persuade us haven’t any singular vein. Reaction is a masquerade of thought. The pretence and play-acting is a product of humanity – that combination of features which dresses us up and is labelled dissimulation.

The blue shadows upon the snow covered fields beckon the evening sky, now illuminated by an angle of waning light downriver. The smothered water reeds drink the yellow blush.

 

Bill, for a spoken rendering, the sentences must breathe. The clauses need a little more air between them, and the rhythm should feel deliberate — unhurried, reflective, quietly amused at its own severity.

Here is a version shaped for the ear rather than the eye:

Brilliant Day — Spoken Version

By the accident of rising early — eight o’clock, to be precise —

I found myself finished with my morning wanderings by noon.

That left the remainder of the day to be confronted head-on…

or rather, eye-to-sun.

Seated at my desk, looking upriver,

I narrow my eyes against the brilliance pouring through the tall windows.

Many times I have considered turning the desk aside —

sparing myself the glare.

Yet I never do.

I keep faith with the original arrangement

and accept the light as part of the bargain.

While keeping watch —

checking my diary,

glancing at the news,

exchanging a bit of gossip —

I am overtaken by the persuasion of a brilliant day.

Truth be told,

I prefer sunshine to everything else.

It is a kind of religion.

Uncompromising.

Efficient.

Devotional.

For all that I praise knowledge,

I often detect in conventional reporting

a commercial urgency —

rather like those audio whodunits:

entertaining, perhaps…

but hardly a path to moral improvement.

And I admit — somewhat grimly —

that I understand the temptation

of those in the media’s elevated seats

to dismiss the alarms of the hoi polloi.

Royalty does not readily mix with the common herd.

It is not a charitable thought.

But the divide is real.

And none of us stands entirely outside it.

That recognition unsettles me.

By hazard or fortune of birth,

we are conditioned to respond to life in predictable ways.

To step deliberately into the arena —

a willing gladiator —

is work.

Each side of the fence mirrors the other in one respect:

both are capable of good…

and of harm.

I have never fully embraced the primacy of punishment.

I think of certain First Nations traditions

where estrangement from the community

stood in place of retaliatory injury.

A stern remedy —

but not a vengeful one.

In the end,

my opinion is only that.

Whether we listen to preachers

or to podcasters,

we decide for ourselves.

The influences that move us

do not flow from a single vein.

Reaction often masquerades as thought.

And pretence —

that subtle play-acting we practice so well —

is woven into what we call humanity.

Dissimulation dressed up as conviction.

And now, toward evening,

the blue shadows stretch across the snow-covered fields.

They beckon the sky.

Downriver,

the light falls at a waning angle.

The reeds along the water —

half smothered in snow —

drink in the yellow blush.