Winter Light
The sun hugs the horizon these days, and my body never knows what time it is. Strangely, the feeling reminds me of late summer evenings in the far North, when the sun lingers for hours and it seems like time has stopped. Last night I walked home from a movie at eleven o'clock, but it felt like some unknown hour of the night.
There's a certain beauty to these days and this light. With the sun low and cotton clouds stretched the length of the sky, the light has a defuse, peaceful quality. Its not a brutal winter here, like in South Bend. The wind rarely blows hard or cold, and the temperature rises ten degrees above freezing most every day. The trees are bare, now, and we can see the contours and lines of the hills as walk along paths that wind up valleys and follow along ridges.
The leaves have turned the same orange-brown, no more yellows, lingering greens, or brilliant reds. They form a flattened mass stuck with mud to the ground, slowly turning to dirt.
The winter air is perfect for our afternoon walks. Cold and clear without burning the lungs. I often sweat a little as I climb the hills in a light T-shirt and unzipped sweatshirt. It's an hour to the Napoleon stone and back. Then its off the library for a long dark evening, where I read in the light of a desk lamp. Michael.
There's a certain beauty to these days and this light. With the sun low and cotton clouds stretched the length of the sky, the light has a defuse, peaceful quality. Its not a brutal winter here, like in South Bend. The wind rarely blows hard or cold, and the temperature rises ten degrees above freezing most every day. The trees are bare, now, and we can see the contours and lines of the hills as walk along paths that wind up valleys and follow along ridges.
The leaves have turned the same orange-brown, no more yellows, lingering greens, or brilliant reds. They form a flattened mass stuck with mud to the ground, slowly turning to dirt.
The winter air is perfect for our afternoon walks. Cold and clear without burning the lungs. I often sweat a little as I climb the hills in a light T-shirt and unzipped sweatshirt. It's an hour to the Napoleon stone and back. Then its off the library for a long dark evening, where I read in the light of a desk lamp. Michael.
2 comments:
Wow, that was beautiful. You almost made winter here sound like a good thing. Almost...I'm still a Georgian at heart and am therefore fundamentally opposed to shivering, darkness, fog, chronic wetness, big heavy coats, seeing my breath, etc. Oh, and complaining:)
You make it sound romantic and Gothic good for you.
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