I sometimes wonder where light comes from. I'm being told it is caused by gases and other elements exploding on the surface of the Sun. Such a boring answer! The more I think about it, the scientific explanation never seems to suffice.

How could I accept that a thing so magical—a late afternoon ray, the sunrise, the nightfall—is nothing more than a series of light waves produced by chain reactions? It may sound fascinating to some, but for me, something is missing. Something of a brushstroke, a peaceful emotion, some positive energy.

At times, it looks like an impressionist painting. Clouds unfurl into shredded ribbons or fluffy bundles, thin wisps or imposing billows. As the evening settles, the blue canvas above is layered with warm, dusky colours. When morning comes, I wake up and draw back the curtains to see the sun reflect on the snow or the sea, dazzling me. My favourite light shows up in the late afternoon, once the day starts to fade but the sun is still lingering in the sky. The rays seep in through the north-facing window of my bedroom and give a quiet glow to the place.

Under the same sky, a few months ago, I moved away to Rimouski for school. When I came back home in December to spend the holidays with my family, everything seemed different. Brighter. Gleaming with light. I then realized how light bounces off and brightens snow and water, adding to every colour, giving a surreal tint to the elements.

I remember many moments when I felt transported by the sight of nature and the landscape. Yes, the setting is quite beautiful here, but there's more to it. There's light behind everything.

I remember many moments when I was blinded by the light, on a winter day, on a summer day, on any day of the year. When I've cursed myself for having forgotten my sunglasses.

If I were to leave today, I'd leave something special behind: enough imagination to picture light as something more than wavelengths. Light brings life, it carries feeling, it pushes all things to open up, to expand, to grow.