Agates on a Window Sill

Learning to better appreciate moments in the sun.

December 2022

I don’t know what you know about agates. But for you non-beachcombers, they are pretty beach rocks typically semi-transparent to translucent. Size-wise, more often than not they range between a jellybean and a jawbreaker. They come in various colors and compositions and can be quite fetching. A lot of them are instantly recognizable. They pop against the background of the beach or darker rocks. While others require further inspection before you recognize them for what they are.

I got interested in them when I moved to the coast and began taking regular and lengthy walks along the beach, and began collecting the specimens I found to be the most intriguing. My mother asked me at one point early on, “But why? What are you going to do with them?” And after a few moments of reflection, the answer was clear to me. It’s not that I plan on doing anything with them. Perhaps at some point return them from whence they came. But for now, if I’m able to source comfort from pleasures that are simple and reliable - when I need to I can always reliably find comfort, simply.

When I started decorating my new place, I put all the agates and other little beach treasures I’ve acquired since moving to the coast on a shelf in the bathroom. They looked nice there, and it was as fine a place as any for me to keep them. A few days later I entered the bathroom and instantly noticed a warm and intense sliver of sunbeam washing over that sill that lit up the agates like multi-colored bulbs. I gasped.

Some of the obviously beautiful ones became even more so when shined upon. And others only revealed their magnificence when given light or luminescence from the proper angle. Enabled to flourish under an agreeable set of circumstances. But when they did, they were stunning.

I got lucky enough to catch the phenomenon a handful of times over the next several days. I even moved them around to see how others might look. But who knows how differently the sun will hit that window a week from now, let alone in late winter or early summer. Or if it even does at all during certain times of the year. I’ve only lived in the new pad for a little more than a month, after all.

The other day I was looking at them and thought, that’s us right there. In some ways, we are all agates on a window sill. At numerous points in our lives and in varying degrees, we get our moments in the sun. Right now it would serve me well to strive harder to recognize those moments and appreciate them, relish them while they’re transpiring.

Not just because those rocks can’t do it for themselves. But because you never know how long it might be before the sun hits you again. Or how bright it will be when it does, or for how long. Or god forbid, you get taken off the sill entirely before the sun gets back to you.