Tag: darkness

#365daysofbiking Stars of the fall:

October 17th – It was a beautiful crisp, clear evening as night fell, and I was pleased to see in the western skies the stars were out, just discernible beyond the trees.

I might not like this time of year that much, but the sunsets are well worth it.

#365daysofbiking The dying of the light:

September 25th – Darkness has begun to impinge on my evening commute. Often finding I need lights nearing home, the golden hour is quickly shifting back towards 5pm. Soon the clocks will dog back, and the darkness will again be upon me. I hate that.

The harvest moon this year has been wonderful, though, so actually coming home in the dark had a reward – particularly with the thin cloud haunting the view.

Winter is coming.

March 15th – I was on the canal near the new pool at Clayhanger as night fell.

The sky was impressively foreboding and conditions fairly still. I love the fluid, elastic quality to dusk at this time of year. It really is beautiful.

I love how my variably-timed evening commute changes subtly from mostly dark to mostly in the light about now; I’m already looking forward to the start of British Summer Time in a week’s time and all we need now is some clearer, finer weather.

Despite the velvet, descending dark, it feels good to be emerging into the light.

January 22nd – Darkness is on the run.

Sunrise, 8:04 – Sunset 4:33. A month ago it was 8:18 and 3:53. On a decent day, it’s now not properly dark until gone 5pm.

This is making me happy. Every day, I note the tiny increase snatched back from the night, Every day, I’m a little bit closer.

Just shake this cold, get some flowers out, and it’ll be well on the way to spring.

December 27th – Crossing Catshill Junction Bridge, the ice was treacherous and I was glad to be on studded tyres. Whilst taking the photograph of Humphries House, I could hear a nearby radio, and was confused where it might be coming from. Coming down the bridge towards Brownhills, I noticed a tent in the darkness; there was a fisherman there on the far side, with all the kit for night fishing.

That’s hardy on a night like this – respect.

December 21st – And this is the reason for my sudden optimism. Today is the winter solstice, or shortest day. From here, everything gets better, because the light trickles steadily back into my darkened soul.

The bike GPS tells me the sunrise and sunset times on the main screen, as I love to watch them daily. Today, the sun rose around 8:16am, and set around 3:54. I’ve watched these times all year, and registered the slow acceleration of nightfall from Midsummer, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, minute by precious minute; then cascading and careering through the midway and the end of British Summer Time. Slowing up again, that last push to before 4pm is crushing when it happens. 

By the time I return to work after this, my final commute of 2017, the sunset will already be past 4pm. And no matter what the winter brings, inexorably, unalterably, the GPS will record the gradual steps into the light. And then, at the end of March, I will emerge blinking into the light evenings as British Summer Time commences again.

I have survived the oncoming dark for another year. All I need to dow now is watch the darkness retreat.

November 28th – In winter, as I’ve often observed, you have to take beauty where you can find it, and to find it one must maintain a keen eye.

Hurrying into Wednesbury today, I noticed this confused thistle, in perfect full bloom. It was immaculate, this king of the wasteland, and made my day.

I must have passed this a few times and not noticed, like so many must. I need to sharpen my eye, and keep my sense of wonder in these coming dark months. Doing so it what keeps me going.

November 22nd – Coming through New Street Station at night, rush hour on a foul blustery evening when all the trains are messed up.

I’d rather be anywhere else than here.

Nothing sums up the deadzone, the suck, this awful time of year: no end to the advancing darkness, travel worsening daily, weather closing in.

And yet, there’s something awfully optimistic about it. You know that in a few short weeks, it’ll be over, and we’ll be opening out again.

Patience. Patience.

October 26th – A snatched picture from a darkness errand to Stonnall on my way home – what smashing halloween pumpkins!

Sadly, one seems to have been split by the heat from the nightlight inside, but they were clearly well made – the large one is particularly excellent.

I’m not huge on halloween, to be honest, but I do love the inventiveness of it, particularly the carved gourds.

I spotted these near Sandhills and they genuinely made me smile!