Friday, October 12, 2007

The changeling hour

Dusk is my favorite moment of the day.

The precious minutes when the sun has set but its departing pale yellow-orange rays can still be espied edging the horizon. And the sky is lit with the blueish-white of twilight. And the trees are black cutouts against that velvety canvas.

I can understand why vampires rise at dusk. But I'm glad they don't do so around these parts. I'd hate to be unable to walk at dusk.

It's that changeling hour where nothing seems what it is, where shapes and sounds and smells suggest mythical and mystical possibilities, when my lizard brain turns on and goes into high alert, while my homo sapiens brain waxes poetical.

On this dusk, the dogs and I walked our usual walk on the winding streets at the outskirts of my small college on the hill when sounds of disturbed dried leaves suddenly alerted us to the shadows of deer stirring in the encroaching darkness.

The dogs pulled at their leashes, seeing better than I the direction into which the deer fled and advocating for their right to give chase, to get lost in the dark in pursuit of the fantastic leaping creatures.

I, of course, disagreed. And we continued on our path, not very clear now (this time I forgot my trusty little dog-walking flashlight), but our well-worn path nonetheless.

None of us needed the fast diminishing light to tell us that we were on our way home, where we would be safe and warm behind our closed door, leaving the now full-fledged night to its nocturnal doings.

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