Dark nights

Stargazing and approaching midwinter.

Right now, even an early evening walk is an adventure into the darkness. By the time my working day ends, the sun has already disappeared below the horizon. I put on my coat and gloves, bundle a reluctant dog into the car, and head out to our regular walking spot. We wander as the light fades from the sky.

By the time our walk is over, it’s only seven o’clock. It might as well be midnight.

In the stillness of these winter nights, time on earth moves strangely. Tea time feels like bed time. Without the shifting shadows of day to mark the passing hours, the undifferentiated darkness stretches out.

Though the world is quiet, I do not know when to sleep.

Stargazing

Above my head, silent and hidden behind scudding clouds, stars gently draw the arc of time’s passing. Across the incalculable distances of the expanding cosmos, their movement seems serene.

I know that stately procession of the stars is an illusion; it is the earth beneath my feet that is hurtling away from the moment of sunset and embarking on the great journey towards the dawn. I watch as constellations seem to rise above the horizon and sink again beyond sight. But I am moving. Not them. Even standing still, I rush through the emptiness of space.

To gaze at stars is to glimpse the deepest history of everything that is. The light waves reaching my eyes have been rippling across the universe for hundreds of years. The stars I depend on for direction and companionship could long since have burned themselves out, and I would never know.

On cold, clear winter nights, I am so grateful to have left the bright lights of the city behind. I remember in my thirties, staring up at the low orange clouds of a London night and wondering if I would ever see a dark sky again. Christmas decorations were a poor substitute for starry wonder.

I ventured out to find darkness. I chose my home in part because I could see the stars. I treasure the act of stepping out onto my back doorstep, and looking up to watch Orion rise above the rooftops. I stand for long enough in the cold that my eyes adjust, and with every passing moment, more lights appear.

Nightwalking

Moonless nights are best for stargazing, but they make walking difficult. Far beyond the illumination of towns and cities, the darkest hours can become unnavigable. I have walked in woods so shadowed and deep I could not see my hand in front of my face. New moon movement is necessarily slow.

Yet under the light of a full moon, the world is transformed. Sometimes, there seems to be enough reflected sunlight that colour returns to the earth. I sense deep blues, purples and greens in the shadows. The colours of night flash from the blackness like the jewel tones of a magpie’s tailfeather.

Or perhaps my eyes play tricks on me. I have found, from experience, it is best to walk with a torch in my pocket and to only use it in an emergency. A red light torch is best, as it protects my eyes from the sharp adjustment of white light. Night sight is precious, and hard won.

It can be scary to walk in darkness, though it needn’t be. In the UK, at least, the more-than-human community is gentle; I am not potential prey to any animal predator. Humans, however, sometimes terrify me. I am cautious and wary, and I know there is safety in numbers. But I will not let fear rob me of the magic of darkness. I reclaim the night.

Approaching midwinter

The nights are growing longer, and soon my morning walks will be night walks too. Approaching the heart of midwinter, it is all too easy to become confined indoors. But the darkness beckons me, even if only to step into the garden and gaze at the stars.

Shadows tap at the window, inviting me out to play. Silvery moonlight makes trails across the land, summoning me to follow. Stars glimmer from the windswept skies.

Even in the rush towards the celebrations of midwinter, I find myself slowing down. I am grateful for gentle companionship of the moon and stars. Sometimes, I wish these dark nights would last forever.