The other end of the day

A kind-of day off today, so me and the dog set off for a bonus walk this evening. The sun was low when we set out, sending shafts of gold light through the trees, picking out little patches that are usually in the shade. The acute light seemed to make everything stand out in sharp relief, something I tried, without much success, to capture with my camera. It is, I think, one of those occasions where you need to be there to experience all those little things that define the moment.

The track reaches a fork, and the dog is always excited when I whistle her to take the left. We headed down the hill, eventually leaving the sun behind and entering the shade of the valley. The colour is always different there. I stopped by the little river and watched the trout facing into the flow, tails wafting side to side. I realised I could hear a creaking tree. I hadn't noticed that there was enough breeze to make it move, but it creaked nonetheless, like a door opening onto another, alternative, place.

The track continues on and climbs the hill again. I saw the sun once more, flickering through the trees. I noticed how unfamiliar everything seemed, lit from this golden angle. How different everything felt, too. The morning light announces the start of something.

When I walk the dog in the morning at this time of year, as I climb the last of the hills, I can feel the heat of the coming day on my back. At this time of the day I could feel the cool of the night.

A kiss in the sky

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