First musings

Chauncey's first memory was of light.

That lamp, a tiny bulb mounted upon a very clever sphere that could rotate so the light faced in any direction you liked, sat in pink and white beauty high upon the dresser near her crib.

She cared neither that it was beautiful, nor mechanically intricate, nor even what size the bulb was.

Chauncey only cared that that light be left on, in whatever direction her mother should choose. And it was.

Her mother would leave the room and Chauncey's eyes would never leave that light. Had she been more than two she might have known it was her focal point, but she wasn't and she didn't.

She also didn't realize that this was the hour that would often define her life.

That moment when all the world leaves you and even the sun is gone. The beginning of darkness.

In those times she learned to persevere, to find a focal point and draw inward to the safety of an inner world where she must entertain herself.

She would never know if it was her nature to be somewhat of a loner, a person who needed a great deal of alone time, or if it was a habit taught early on by circumstance and need.