Waning Light – A Photo Essay

Busy with my indoor tasks earlier this afternoon, I received this text message from my husband: “Go outside. It’s beautiful” I looked out the window and saw blue sky. Catching his sense of urgency, I was quick to put on my walking shoes to be out in what could be our last glorious mild day. One benefit of living where there are four distinct seasons is a deep sense of appreciation for good weather. We never take anything for granted, or fall into the kind of complacency of which my California family members are guilty. Weather of all kinds impacts our daily life and it is never boring. When I am wilting in the summer heat, one thought of winter temperatures in the teens snaps me out of my whining. Likewise, when the chill of a February snow storm keeps me inside I remember that soon enough I will be sweating and I contentedly sip my hot chocolate.

The transitions, however, cause a feeling of vague anxiety. As summer slips into fall with winter  looming, we are all in a state of constant vigilance. Especially after the time change, when dusk settles on us by 4:30 each day, the waning of the light is a physical reminder of the waning of the year. We recently had some days with lows in the thirties, giving me a little thrill of anticipation as I tried out my new down coat, but there is a special value to a mild day after a cold snap . Such days are Nature’s gift to us and a reminder to appreciate each degree of warmth and ray of gold shining through the branches.

Yesterday was such a day. The sun-warmed air held a soft comfort as my husband and I went to Fresh Pond to soak up the autumn beauty. While my husband ran the 2.2 miles path around the lake a few times, I strolled and stopped often to capture moments on my camera. Ducks floated in groups, completely still as if in meditation, on water an inky mirror of the trees and sky. There were birds on branches too, looking out ahead, planning, perhaps, their upcoming journey south. People walked their dogs, and strolled in pairs, deep in conversation, or singly on the phone or with earphones plugged in, but I was glad to have no distractions from the beauty around me.

The news had warned of a cold snap coming, and when it poured all night last night, I thought our calm interlude was over. What joy to see that urgent text on my phone today as a reminder that it isn’t winter yet. I rushed out in time to see the waning of the day in Cambridge Common, the squirrels and children frantically scampering about. The squirrels ,of course, were earnest in their preparations for the inevitable cold ahead, but the children were as earnest in their oblivious joy in the moment.

“Wait! Wait for me,” I heard a tiny boy call, half-heartedly, to his mother hurrying far ahead. In his hooded red fleece jacket, he lingered and stalled, pausing to pick up a stick and throw it. “Wait for me,” he tried again, taking in the beckoning park, until reluctantly his little legs picked up speed and off he ran down the path.