I remember reading a story (Sinclair Ross?) in school about early pioneer days on the prairies that I think was called A Lamp at Noon. I remember the main character’s reaction to being in a place so dark she couldn’t see without a lamp mid-day — but I don’t remember feeling it.
As I’ve got older, the early dark is bothering me more and more. I guess I’ve been in Uganda this week for the past few years, so the holiday lead-up had a different feel, and dark-at-6 on the equator when you’re surrounded with lashings of love from children is very different from dark-at-4:50-in Toronto.
Today had patches of sun that I tried to put myself into, like a cat, and then I noticed a deeply pink sunset just before a client call at the end of the day. I was in the middle of getting changed to go out to dinner after the call, but I grabbed my camera and went out to the balcony.
I fiddled a bit trying to find the soft pink through the lens, but it was darkening even as I stood there, and it was bloody, hellish cold up there on the 24th floor, a kilometre from the lake. In my knickers.
Not the way to really relax into a shot, skipping back inside in your sock feet and exposed buttocks, but glad to capture a moment of light.