I walked beyond the pink pre-dawn glow in my own back yard today,
left the dogs behind,
went into the woods, along the steep ravine,
and visited a neighbor's dock on the Penobscot River.
What an amazing contrast to my own home's vista, just a few hundred yards away. Today, at mid-tide, it was still as glass. Could have been a lake. The light was incredibly soft, like an oil painting. The owner of the dock is an artist, in fact, with oil paintings all over his walls.
(I like this one - it looks like a small man is contemplating the water)
There is a long, steep bank above this side of the river, so we're in a bit of a gully, even though it doesn't feel like it from the water's edge. The sun didn't appear until 28 minutes past official dawn (as opposed to 8 minutes past in my yard).
People always talk about the autumn light - how distinct, how beautiful the fiery glow in sky, tree, and field, how different the light feels in the cool air and sharper angles of the sun. The other day, as it grew dark at around 6:00, I noticed the way it grew dark. The darkness was different as well, like the light. There is something more sudden, more thoroughly enfolding about the autumn darkness. It is an embrace of darkening, and has a sense of finality about it that's different from summer dark. I like it.
Check it out. I wonder if you can see what I mean.