Qualities of light and dark have always intrigued me. After the “fall back” of November, the transformation feels much greater than an hour shift. As darkness settles in, I feel this compulsion to get home, build a fire, turn on lights, make soup, batten down the hatches. It is the time of year for turning inward, slowing down; time to hibernate, even though it’s only 4:00 in the afternoon.
I relish unconventional light sources out of doors. When I walk into the glade in the back yard, a gloomy evening is suddenly illuminated by bright leaves – on the ground and in the trees. My black dogs leap into sharp outline.
Darkness too, is relative. From inside today, the world appears pitch dark at 5pm. Once outside with the dogs, I see that there is still enough light to navigate the paths around the field. A lit interior deceives. The outer darkness is never as bad as it appears from our protected interior spaces.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 70: 163 words, TOTAL = 11,607; 48,393 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is an award-winning author, poet, and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her children, grandchildren, and granddogs.