I do love the way the light falls at this time of year - especially in the evenings. The trees turn gold; the shadows are crisp across the fronts of houses, from eaves and fascias and windows. The sunlight is long and warm and brilliant through the branches of trees too, perhaps even flickering the pavement with patches of light and shade. And all of that is happening under a rich blue sky, streaked with aeroplane trails and wisps of cloud.
Sammy and I watched the sunset the other day. It was layered in bands of the most amazing colours. I found myself wishing I could do that… forever. I’d be an artist, like Turner or Monet, or Rembrandt, assigned to a wealthy duke who wants nothing more than beautiful pictures of the sun bursting its way through the evening. And out I’d go, easel and brushes, a cool wind in the evening sky - scarf whipping around an open shirt, smile on my young, free, glorious face.
I’m not exactly an artist. I leave that kind of thing for Sammy. I lost confidence when I got brown and red mixed up on ‘paint your classmate’s portrait’ day at Primary School. I didn’t really know I was colourblind. Chris knew he didn’t have purple eyes though - he was quick to tell me. I’ve not been great with art since, and everything I try turns into a cartoon. I can’t imagine Turner doing that. Rain, Steam, Speed would have turned out like a frame from the Beano.
Anyway, we watched as the sky shimmered with light and the colours stretched behind the houses and the trees in the park. It was magnificent.
Life’s too short for stress, I thought to myself. I wonder why we bring it on ourselves? Looking up was somehow cathartic, and I was loving it. We all live under the same sky, don’t we? It’s a choice whether or not to watch the setting sun, or go for a dreamy walk on a September day. I suppose something very liberating was happening to me.
I really do love the way the light falls at this time of year.
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