Thursday, February 16, 2017
Needed to walk out somewhere at Maghrib just now and was struck by the strange quality of the light at that time. It doesn't exactly thicken, Macbeth-style, but it seems to acquire a certain weight, as if the day has wearied of itself. Yet within that weariness is a sense of expectation of the night to come and the scurrying life that will accompany it. The fading of the light signifies not so much an ending as the transition between scenes.