It was a beautiful morning today. A light, wispy mist had taken possession of the land and beams of the sun painted patterns of light in the air through the branches of the trees. Mildew had created a pattern of crystals across every available field of grass, and the birds were chirping serenely from the trees when I went through the park.
On days like this, I lament the fact that I am born a night person. Do not mistake me for a “goth” or a “vampire”-wannabe or anything of the sort, I just tend to go to sleep around 3 am and get out of bed around noon when left unattended for. And it doesn’t help that I frequently communicate with people in vastly different time zones than I am, more often than not time zones that render them available for such communication after midnight falls in Denmark.
This time of year, mornings are beautiful. Part of my daily route to work is through a park road with tall trees on either side, and when the sun casts beams of light through the mist, anybody with the least bit of imagination can easily find himself traversing a land of fantasy, expecting to see elves moving silently between the trees. I only get to experience this strange, tranquil state of mind for a scant minute on the days when a morning shift has been assigned to me, because when no duties exist to force me out of bed, I will be hard pressed to find myself in a park before 9 am, when the mist has lifted and the sun settled into a more conventional position.
Then I must console myself in the fact that other parts of the day, which I experience more easily, carry a different kind of magic. Twilight is my personal favourite; just after sunset when the sky is a swirly, glowing mess of red and orange, and the colours are slowly drained from the world. As everything turns into an odd shimmering land of greyscale, strange thing appear in the periphery of one’s vision, and the imagination once again runs wild.
And the night itself should not be underestimated either. Full as it is of sights and sounds, especially in the city permeated with neon colours or in the country on clear starry nights (of which I have never seen many).
That concludes today’s vaguely poetical intermission.