Tag: sunset

Mach 11th – A remarkable, and strange day. Periods of bright, clear sunshine interspersed with sudden, sharp and heavy snowstorms. They’d last for 15 minutes, then the sun would come out again. All the while, a bitter, biting wind came from the east. It really was viciously cold.

On the way home, I boarded a train at Tyseley in a blizzard, then ten minutes later cycled through Birmingham City Centre in bright sunshine. Coming home from Shenstone with the wind (thankfully) behind me, the sun was bright, but the sky to the easy was dark and threatening.

I sped home, hoping to avoid any oncoming snow – thankfully, the sky didn’t fulfil it’s promise. 

An odd day to commute, and little sign of spring, although the light was gorgeous.

March 5th – The sunsets are great at the moment. The welcome lengthening of the day, combined with some dry, misty weather is making the local countryside beautiful at dusk. Winter is still ongoing, as the bare trees indicate, but everything feels like it’s ready to go. Crocuses and daffodils are in bud, hedgerows are smattered with small specs of light emerald, and the sun, when it comes it feels warming.

After a wet, cold winter, this is just what’s needed. It warms the shoulders and the heart.

March 4th – I came home from Shenstone at sunset. They day hadn’t improved much – coming back necessarily late, my train ticket was invalid and I had to buy a second. All the way back I’d been fighting the kind of tiredness that repeatedly pulls you into slumber, then cruelly snatches you awake, momentarily terrified. I just wanted to be home.

It was chilly, and slightly misty as the sun went down. The countryside around Stonnall, Lynn and Sandhills looked gorgeous in the subtle light and mist. I was still tired, but I couldn’t stop taking pictures. I love the outdoors, even when I’m nearly beaten. It gives me strength.

I note that at Home Farm, at Sandhills, the field that was potatoes last year has been prepared with long, flat, plastic film encased beds, suggesting something delicate. I’m wondering if it’s connected with the pipework I saw being installed last weekend. The geometry and precision of the automated planting and covering is stunning. It’ll be interesting to see what crop emerges.

February 27th – What a difference a day made. Yesterday I was lamenting the grey, the cold and the murk. Today, it was grey in the morning, but as I came home – in the light – the sun shone softly and the sunset was terrific – so much so that I was contacted by friends who asked me if I saw it.

Sadly, as I was returning from Walsall at the time, I couldn’t get a good vista on it, but I managed to catch a little of it at Bullings Heath as it died to  darkness. 

A beautiful, beautiful evening that brought joy – and spring – to my soul. Just what I needed.

February 17th – As the sunset moved on, the golds turned to crimson and purple, and the birdlife settled peacefully, watched over by silent, reverent spotters. I went mooching over the north heath, where the boardwalk over Fly Creek seems to have sunk a little since the last time Chasewater was full. It really was a bit Indiana Jones – but nice to see the boardwalk now extended over the heath. As I returned along the Causeway, Jeffreys Swag glowed in the evening. You don’t get many days like this. I’m glad I was alive to witness it. 

February 17th – The late afternoon was golden. I didn’t intend to spend 2 hours at Chasewater, but it was so gorgeous, the time just flew. And for every minute that ticked by, the light changed. Families, birders, walkers and photographers were out in this most chilly of golden hours. It was precious. My love for this place – however run-down, dilapidated or neglected, is enduring.

February 16th – I hadn’t been to Lichfield since Christmas. It was nice to visit at sunset, and feel the chill coming in, reminding me not to get too cocky and that it was still February. The sky was gorgeous, and the city skyline more so. As I walked the streets pushing my bike, I reflected on how depressed the city centre was; so many closed shops I used to love. But the place is still gorgeous, for all that.

February 15th – I was off work with stuff to do all day. I slipped out just in the sunset hour, too late for the colour, but just in time for the drama. The going was good and the bike felt fast, and I rode it liquid along the towpaths of Brownhills. The light was superb – just when you think you’ve seen a place in every light possible, something different happens. From Catshill Junction to Pelsall Road, the soft lights of the Watermead to the harsh geometry of Humphries House, the whole of Brownhills seemed to be high on twilight drama.

Brilliant, really enjoyable.

February 14th – Today was spring-like again. When I went to bed the night before, there was still snow on the ground. When I awoke, the snow had gone and we’d rebooted into spring again. An odd season, this.

As I dashed late from work, I noticed the sun over the city, and a decent sunset. Snatching a couple of quick shots, I dashed for my train. 

The season’s wheel is really turning now; when I got back to Walsall, it was just about still light. I think there’s hope awhile yet…

February 6th – At the other end of the day, at Walsall, delightfully in the half-light at 5:30pm, the sunset was beautiful, and it was dry. I loved the lights, and the sky, and yet again, the exaggerated vanishing point the elongated geometry formed.

I don’t know where my love of railways at night comes from. It’s not about trains, or the experience of travel. But the light, the signals, the dark and the interaction of machinery and landscape. The windy sweep of trains passing through, and often the solitude. I think it’s from my childhood but can’t place why, exactly.

Back in the 1970s there was a record label called Late Night Feelings. One of it’s logos was a beautiful, childlike crayon drawing of the then new Intercity 125 speeding through a darkened station at night, with a pair of children watching on the platform. That’s exactly how I feel.

A mystery.