I was thinking about a time long ago when I was remembering my childhood in California. I was thinking about it in a way that changed the color of my memories. The sun was whitish-yellow in a different way. I had the same feeling when I walked out of the airport in Amsterdam. The light was different than in California where the airplane had taken off, but who could say how it was different? It just was.
In fact I was thinking about the moment I walked out of the airport in Amsterdam in which I was remembering a day in my California childhood, but with the light of Amsterdam all around the yard where I was playing. I turned to my friend who was also seeing European light for the first time and said, “The light is different here.” He just shrugged and grunted. The light had not invaded his memories instantly. He did not understand, and I could not explain it to him. So I just smiled at the thunderstorm sky of a new continent.