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Category: light

Scintillating Shade

Scintillating Shade

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The rains have stopped, which means not only a return of sun but also of shade. I saw some spectacular specimens on yesterday’s long walk on the Reston trails. In fact, some of the patterns made me stop in my tracks, pull out my phone and snap a shot.

What contrast, what texture! It reminded me of the shade during the eclipse, the tiny crescent-moon shapes into which it was carved.

No eclipse yesterday, of course, so the textures all came from leaf wag and leaf meal, from earth and pavement, from the filter and the canvas.

Light Show

Light Show

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I wake these days in medias res, a Latin phrase I remember from my study of The Odyssey in high school. It may not yet truly be “in the middle of things” — 7 a.m. isn’t that late — but it feels that way with so much light pouring in the front windows.

Wasn’t it just weeks ago when waking at this hour felt like getting in on the ground floor of the day? Not anymore. I feel like the party’s half over by the time I open my eyes. Sunrise at 6:14 and ever earlier through the next couple of months.

And so begins the season of light. It began weeks ago, I suppose, but I was too busy to notice. Now I have time to marvel at the way it slants in the house early in the day, making shadows on the wall, splashing us with warmth and well-being.

It’s not easy to sleep late these days. But why would you want to?

In the Dark

In the Dark

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A power outage yesterday left us in the dark for several hours. It happened late afternoon, shortly before sunset. I used stored power and outdoor light as long as I could, writing on this machine (almost fully charged!) and sorting clothes — a long-postponed task — by an upstairs window.

But there came a point when darkness was inevitable. I did all those silly things you do when suddenly deprived of electricity, like flipping light switches. Then I lit a candle, played the piano and embraced the 18th century.

What sticks with me now is looking outside at the houses around us. A couple have generators so they don’t count. But the others were indistinguishable in the darkness. It was a blank landscape, deprived of familiar landmarks and human warmth.

How I’ve come to count on the porch light, the lamp in the window, telltale signs of human habitation. They keep us company in the dark. I miss them when they’re gone.

Holding On

Holding On

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Fall has arrived. It rode in on a heavy rain that pulled down twigs and leaves, littering the road with summer’s excess. 

Truth to tell, the trees are tired. They have been hanging on to their foliage throughout this hot, dry summer. They’re looking for an excuse to lay down their load. A heavy rain will do it, so will a brisk wind. 

They’re preparing for the great un-leaving, still weeks away, but imminent. The equinox is here, and with it a lowering of the light. I want to hold onto as much of the light as I can. Don’t we all?

An Appetizer

An Appetizer

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You’d think I would know what it was, but when I heard the pop last night in the car, my first thought was that it was coming from the radio. 

Instead, it was coming from the fireworks that were exploding off to my left, filling the night sky with light as I drove north toward home. 

I could only catch glimpses of the display, but they were a perfect appetizer for tonight’s full-course meal.

Lovely, Dark and Deep

Lovely, Dark and Deep

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It’s less than three weeks till summer solstice. By 5 a.m. the first birds are singing, and darkness doesn’t fall till almost 9 p.m. At this time of year, light is our constant companion. 

Perhaps that’s why the woods appeal. They are, to quote Robert Frost, “lovely, dark and deep.” Though he described a winter landscape, mine is a summery one: oaks, maples and sycamore in full leaf, the path that winds through them sheltered and shady.

What mysteries lie down these trails? What refreshment will they bring? Will the woods be cooler than the street? These are questions I want to answer — and will. 

Golden Stroll

Golden Stroll

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Back from a long drive, I take to the road. Not as a motorist but a pedestrian. I’m not often walking during the “golden hour,” when the sun slants low and bathes the landscape in soft light, but I was yesterday, and I reveled in it.

I first learned of the golden hour traveling with photographers. While writers can ply their trade at any hour (observing, interviewing, soaking up the local color), photographers prefer mornings and evenings to snap their shots. I see why. The world looks better then, and so do the photographs.

I didn’t intend to stroll during the golden hour yesterday; that was just the time available. But once I was walking through it I realized my good fortune. Here was beauty to soothe the nerves and still the mind. 

(The golden hour in Khulna, Bangladesh.)

Post Solstice

Post Solstice

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The shortest day was mostly cloudy. I took two walks, my first in a while. It felt good to be striding through space, cold enough that I wore gloves in the beginning. 

We’ve made it past the nadir and are now on the ascendancy. There’s a direct line from today to June’s long, lingering twilights. A fact to keep in mind during the early sunsets of January and February. 

Yesterday afternoon, I heard a springlike twittering in the air. It was a flock of robins who breezed in to hunt for worms and berries. Another sign that spring is out there somewhere. 

Mood Lighting

Mood Lighting

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All day long they absorb the sun’s rays, so by the time night falls they’re ready to go. 

The new deck lights emit a spectral glow. Thanks to the cut-outs on their frame, the shadows they throw are squiggly and whimsical.

If you’re looking for complete illumination, they’re not the way to go. But if you’re after mood lighting, a way to be in the darkness but not completely surrounded by it, they’re just the ticket.

 

Springing Ahead?

Springing Ahead?

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Today is our first full day of astronomical spring, though the chilly morning temps make it feel more like winter. We in the mid-Atlantic have been spoiled this year, with snowdrops blooming in January and daffodils in February. It’s been a non-winter. 

Now that we have late light, too, I feel a bit like Punxsutawney Phil, dragged out of his burrow only to dip back in because the sun’s too bright. These late-light evenings, as much as they thrill, can seem like too much too soon. 

There’s a part of me that still craves the lamplit afternoon, the cozy cocooning feel you have in winter, a pot of soup bubbling on the stove, no outside chores calling my name to add to the inside chores that are always with me. 

In other words, winter gives me a pass of sorts. And now … that pass is over.