glimmers of joy

Glimmers are small moments of joy and comfort. Unlike triggers, they signal calm and safety. Like faint little bells on a neighbor’s balcony, shaken by a cold wind. Or the freshness of sheets you slip into after a hard day.

My simplest glimmer is a string of lights that keeps flickering when the power suddenly goes out. But there are many more, you just have to look closely.

In each of the three frames, I perform a simple action that brings light to life. In the first, I settle into my favorite chair in the middle of Volodymyrska Hill, where I often come to rest. The string lights above me were hung by my dad. In the second, I walk holding a sparkler lit by a stranger: he decided it was my birthday, and I didn’t bother to argue. In the last, I play with giant matches and an enormous candle – gifts from close friends that will keep me warm all winter, and maybe longer.

So even though I’m capable of making my own independent list of glimmers, how poor it would be without the people around me.