Dark v Light

Leave a comment August 9, 2022 Steve Wiggins

The summer solstice was days away and the earliest sunrise had already passed. The earliest sunrise and the latest sunset are not on the same day. To those of us who rise before the sun, it does make a difference. I’m a morning jogger (when my back allows it). I prefer to go out before work because otherwise you have to interrupt your day to put on your scuzzies and then come back all sweaty, hoping you didn’t forget about a meeting just after. The thing is, I start work early and my preferred jogging time is around 5 a.m. Back in May it’s easy to believe that this timetable is workable. Then in August, almost like it’s pinned to the first of the month, you realize that it will be much closer to six than five before it’s light enough to see. So the seasons go.

Even in the midst of a heat wave, you can smell autumn coming. Yes, I know there will be hot days and uncomfortable nights yet. But just as surely as Back to School merchandise begins to appear in July (school had been out maybe two weeks by then), fall inexorably follows summer. Around here it’s been drier than normal. Stressed trees began shedding leaves in July as if to say, “Alright, we’ll give this a try again next year.” They are much more obvious about seasonal changes than the rest of us, but we’re all impacted by the always shifting patterns of light and warming, or cooling, mercury. Seasons remind us of what it means to be mortal beings. Melancholy isn’t always a bad thing.

Being a morning person, at least in my case, means spending quite a bit of my creative time in the dark. In fact, back in June it’s like it gets light too soon for me to go jogging right away—I still have things to do first. I also know it will still be some time before it’s dark when I go to bed. I have no trouble sleeping in the light. Our schedules are part of our perceptions of time and light. We all agree, more of less, that from nine to five we’ll be at our desks, whiling away the most productive hours of sunlight. I remember commuting to work in the dark only to commute home also in the dark. Using that time for creativity is important, but so is trying to keep healthy. Like the great dramatic acts of the solstices and equinoxes, it’s all a matter of balance.

Solstice Thoughts

Leave a comment June 21, 2022 Steve Wiggins

At the equator, the difference is nil. The longest day and the shortest day don’t deviate from the standard day length. The further you move from the equator, the more dramatic the effect is. Here in the northern hemisphere this is our longest day, the solstice. Historically, particularly in countries to the northern edge of the northern hemisphere, this is a holiday. Midsummer marked the days of sun and growth. Light is abundant—too abundant to sleep well in the furthest reaches. Being visually oriented creatures, we enjoy the surfeit of light. Light has long been a symbol of the divine for, I suppose, just that reason. It makes us feel secure and safe. We can see what’s going on around us.

In Antarctica, today is the shortest day of the year. Indeed, around now there is seldom any light at all. On the exact same day there are literally polar opposites on this planet. The summer here is winter there. It’s the first day of winter in the global south. Their understanding of this day is completely different. Of course, once you reach the shortest day, things can only improve. The climb to summer lasts half a year, only to have the decline immediately begin again. The difference is as subtle as it is inexorable. For those of us who wake before the sun, it’s already obvious that sunrise is coming later than it did last week. The earliest sunrise was the fourteenth. Sunset will come later and later for the next few days, to compensate for the lost morning light, but overall there will be less and less until we are the winter half of the world.

There are many lessons to learn here. In a world where the longest and shortest days are the same day—solstices depend on where you live—we don’t fight over it. This despite the fact that light is our most precious commodity. We simply accept that we celebrate light when we have it, and await its coming when we don’t. Other resources we fight over. Potable water. Petroleum products. Arable land. Silently, radiantly, light shows us the way. There’s an inevitability here. Through long experience on the earth we simply accept it. The other option is to fight over what we can’t control, which is futility defined. There are lessons to learn from the longest day. And if it’s your shortest day, you know that all will be forgiven at the next equinox.

Spring Forward

Leave a comment March 21, 2016 Steve Wiggins

I have to admit that spring snuck up on me this year. Weather is, of course, no reliable predictor of the Vernal Equinox, and since I depend on the lightness of the sky while waiting for the bus as an indicator of seasons, turning our clocks ahead last weekend blindsided me to the nearness of the light. Holy Week in Christianity is just one of a cluster of holy days long associated with the point of equilibrium: the day when light and darkness balance perfectly, only to tip from then on in the favor of light. The crocuses have been up for weeks and the robins are ubiquitous, so I really have no excuse. Spending too much of one’s days indoors, I suspect, will inure any soul to the wonder of changing seasons. Climate control, no windows, and constant business separate a person from what nature has evolved us to be.

Easter, understandably, can’t be a national holiday in a land of religious freedom. Not everyone recognizes Easter and even those who do don’t agree on the date. Having a moveable feast is a great inconvenience to employers who want to know everyone’s going to be at their desks. Besides, even though the date changes, it’s always on a Sunday. Many people already have that sop and so, we glide past the vernal equinox with nary a thought. Business as usual. Looking at the great monuments of the past, when ancients put great effort into marking the seasonal change days, I can’t help but think that we’ve lost touch with a basic element of our humanity when we let the equinoxes pass without notice. I hadn’t even realized it was spring until it had begun.

Stopping to recognize the significant days in the passing of the year may be inherently religious. We can be as secular as we like about the equality of light and darkness, but somewhere deep inside we’ll still be thankful that the days will be growing longer until there is more light than dark. We just don’t have to say so at the office. Holidays, it seems to me, offer us hope. We don’t have to buy stuff or give presents. Just having a day to stop and reflect makes us more human. The vernal equinox came silently on a Sunday this year. I awoke early to try to catch sunrise on a cloudy morning. I look to the east, and I dare to hope.