Sunday, June 20, 2010
15 June 2010
We're walking around the yard after dark. A pink glow backlights the silhouettes of trees to the west, a sliver of moon begins to set as the evening star rises, and bats flit through the air.
The peepers are still singing; the wind, which raged all day, tossing stinging salt spray across the yard, has settled; a flower of some sort opens and vibrant perfume fills the air. We walk along the water's edge; our feet are in darkness but the sea still glows softly silver. "This time of year," Marike says, "the light seeks surfaces where it can linger."
It's as if, just like us, it's not ready to slumber yet, but clings, wakeful, to every last minute it can turn to day.