Advancing Evening—Part 2

As the sun dips even farther below the western horizon, it grows ever darker. (I remind myself that the sun really stays right where it is; it's we who are rotating away from it.) I look upward, wondering how soon I'll spot the first evening's star. The sky is a medium indigo color—not quite yet ready to reveal that first pin point of starlight. 

It hits me that I am watching a game of “photon competition.” As the sun's profuse outpouring of photons (call it bright light) gets intercepted by yonder ridge, it lowers the light level surrounding me. As the sun’s photons decrease, the much fewer photons I receive from distant stars will begin to get a chance to be noticed. Those stars scattered out their abundant allotment of photons millions of years ago—a scant few of them finally reaching my eye. They will become visible only when the arriving nighttime reduces the sun's photons to near nonexistence.

The opposite of the rising ridge-shadow phenomenon visits in the morning, as the sun's first rays illuminate the very tips of trees. The shadows then retreat down the tree trunks—slowly yielding to the new day's light. 

I am reminded of a time a decade ago, when I meandered through Glacier National Park in Montana, and then across the border into Canada's Waterton Lakes National Park—the other half of that gorgeous Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park. Camped on the Canadian side, I arose before dawn to watch the morning's light slowly grow. I was greeted by the stunning sight of a distant, tall Rocky Mountain peak bathed in a golden spotlight, as the sun lit up the top of the mountain. I was riveted by the view, watching the brilliant yellow creep down the mountain. Then I noticed a dark, horizontal line etched across the mountain’s face. Curious! It didn't seem as if it could be a rock formation, so what could it be? Then it seemed to grow a wee bit larger and even appeared to undulate. Curioser! 

Perplexed, I stared at this wavering black line, and then noticed that it took on the appearance of a string of black pearls on a quivering necklace. Finally, I watched as the black pearls transformed into tiny Canada geese. Their wide V-formation grew larger, bore down upon me, and eventually flew overhead. By then, the mountain was half bathed in light, and I was still standing, unmoving, stunned.

When you take the time to register the sun's slow creep, as shadows steal sluggishly across the landscape, like the minute hand of a clock, another world exposes itself to you...a world that our rushed pace usually keeps hidden from us. It's great to step away from that bustle and become aware of a more measured world—one that lights up those serene places in our consciousness.