In Provence, it is another member of the family.
It can be moody, blindingly brilliant or caress with a tenderness that is almost painful. It might show you parts of yourself that you had tried to hide or illuminates a love that you have long held dear. It is a powerful reminder.
Seldom banal, it is as expressive as its people and as changeful, as wanton as the seasons that push time with a heavy hand.
How often it has struck me silent and aroused the wonder that beauty can bring. At such moments as this, a sunset in an olive grove, I feel suspended with no need to clutch or ask for more.
For this is our light. In Provence, we are kith and kin.