The image of the broken bowl in Week 6, 'Vulnerability' could just as well have been in Week 7, 'Loss' - not only was a very lovely bowl lost, but it had been a gift from a dear friend for a 'significant' birthday so the loss was multiplied.
The first three of the images in Week 7, 'Loss' could just as well be included under 'Grief' this week; as could the last image - the vandalised wildlife pond - from Week 6, 'Vulnerability'. The damage to that pond stands in for all the deep grief I feel for the multitude of insults that humanity heaps upon the whole biosphere.
This week's post comes as we are less than three weeks from the summer solstice and I knew immediately what I wanted to photograph and convey . . . if I could. In these latitudes of England we have already entered the all too short season of long days, light evenings and extended, late, slowly fading twilights. These times always fill me with a poignant sadness.
There's something about how quickly after the solstice the light starts to fall away again, and then it's diminishment all the way to midwinter! A former colleague of mine used to come into the morning coffee break, every year on the day after midsummer, and say, "Eh, nights are drawing in . . ." It was silly, it was a joke . . . and it was true. And that poignant sense of loss, exactly at the zenith of summer light, is something about the finiteness of life itself, of each life, of all life.
But it's not only a feeling belonging to later life. I remember very strongly, as a small child, the loss and the injustice of being put to bed when it was still fully light outside; as a teenager, not being able to enjoy the light evenings innocently - there was school homework to be done, an early start for school the next day, exams looming. And by the time the school holidays came, it was August and the nights really were drawing in, and darkness fell all too soon.
Additionally, this year, it's been impacted by an enormous amount of rain and cloud cover - we've so far actually had very few clear, warm light evenings when it's been possible to sit outdoors, watching the light fading, and the stars emerging. This brief, lovely season will be even shorter this year.
All of this flooded into my mind as I read this week's brief . . . but how to photograph it? The weather this week has been either overcast or raining almost every day. On the one fine evening I snapped away for half an hour, fifteen minutes either side of sunset, hoping to capture something of this feeling. Out of more than 130 photos (!) this one, I think, comes closest:
I love your persistence and think you’ve reflected your thoughts beautifully in this image. ‘The dying light’
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