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Category: light

Eight or Later

Eight or Later

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I heard yesterday on the weather report that the sun will not set before eight p.m. from now until August 18. It’s a good way to celebrate May Day and the start of a new month, with the promise of light.

Hot autumn days with an unshakeable air of melancholy are proof that it’s not lack of warmth that makes me mourn the end of summer. It’s the early darkness.

Extra daylight means early mornings and late nights. It means tomatoes and zinnias and basil. It means after-dinner strolls,  evening swims and long suppers on the deck. And of course, it’s the perfect excuse for insomnia. Summer is often thought an indolent time, but when you consider the extra daylight it gives us, it’s better thought of as an active season, a heroic season.

Knowing we have three and a half months of late sunsets ahead of us gives me a sense of calm — even after solstice comes, we will still have light on our side.

Lamp Light

Lamp Light

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Our neighborhood has no street lights. The night walker’s way is lit by the diffuse glow of lamp lights, porch lights and garage lights. To make our way through the darkness we depend upon each other.

Though I grew up with street lights (and measured time by them), I have always liked our neighborhood’s softer, more individual, approach to pedestrian lighting.

But recently something has happened to our neighborhood light. It’s no longer the fuzzy yellow halo I’ve come to count on. It’s a bright white interrogator-like glare. And that’s because more homeowners now use compact fluorescent (CFL) bulbs, which cost less, last longer and are better for the environment (in the long run).

As for our environment in the short run — the mellow-lit porches and lamps as faint beacons along a garden path — that is endangered.

Afternoon Light

Afternoon Light

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The late-day walk is sun-scorched, quick-timed. The cars don’t see you coming. In the lengthening days of new spring, it is still raw and cold, so I don’t linger on the path. The point is decompression. The jingle-jangle of the subway, the pressure of the deadline — these will slip away in the balm of foot fall. Or at least that is the hope.

But afternoon light is desolate. It lacks the comfort of the morning. I find no explanation for this in science, only in poetry:

There’s a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.

Miss Dickinson to the rescue. She understands.

Sun Slant

Sun Slant

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I was out early this morning and when I drove back into our neighborhood the sun was slanting through the trees and filling our street with light. I wonder why I find this so fetching. Is it because the sunshine is heaven-sent? Because it is grandiose, like a Bierstadt painting?

I have an amateurish meterological explanation for this phenomenon. The air is filled with moisture from last night’s downpour and the sunlight bounces off the water molecules in the air. Or something like that.

But what to make, then, of how it strikes my soul, of the philosophical explanation? Seeing our landscape all lit with light comforts me. It fills me with awe at the beauty of nature, and it reminds me that it is still summer — insect-humming, humidity-stoked, green-leafed summer. And I am glad of it.

Mood Lighting

Mood Lighting

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One of the most important housekeeping tricks I’ve taught my daughters is to keep the lights low. Makes up for a multitude of sins. But I don’t do this just to hide the dirt. I feel more relaxed and comfortable when I’m not sitting in a pool of harsh light. At home I run around snapping off the overheads and turning on small lamps. At the office I shun institutional florescence for incandescent alternatives.

I was thinking of all this the other day while riding Metro. The platforms are so dim that it’s difficult to read small print when I’m waiting for the train. But I’m grateful for the perpetual twilight. How much worse it would be to stand shoulder to shoulder in a harsh glare. How much calmer and more inconspicuous I feel waiting in the darkness.

Morning Light

Morning Light

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This morning I dashed outside early because I wanted to walk in time to the Strauss waltz I heard on the radio. Once out, though, I remembered why early morning was once my favorite time to walk. I strolled sans sunglasses, hoping that more of the rays would penetrate my pupils, reset my biological clock, stabilize my mood and all that other good stuff. But the morning light did something much more fundamental. It lifted my spirit.