How Do You Use Light?

Moonlight seen from the deck

As I write this blog, a mild breeze shivers the leaves of the trees between our house and the lake and causes the evening light to dance on the water. Most of the leaves are still green, and the light shines from slightly north of west. In three weeks the leaves will be yellows, oranges, reds and browns; the sunset will appear due west. It was just such a day fifteen years ago we first walked the land we now call home.

Early Autumn

In her interviews fellow blogger E. B. asks as a bonus question, “Beach or mountains?” My answer would be first “yes” and then “no.” In my fantasies as a young adult, I dreamed of retiring to three homes. One in high mountains to avoid summer’s heat; a second on a remote northern lake for spring and fall; the third on an ocean beach for winter.

As financial reality (and the impracticality of taking care of multiple residences by one who thinks home repairs are much closer to death by hanging on the scale of punishments than to a day in a jail) I only own one of those dreams. I could have chosen any of the three, but I picked the remote northern lake.

I think it is because of the light.

Mountain retreats or oceanfront property provide the opportunity for horizon-length vistas. One could probably find such a long view in the big sky country of Montana for less cost, but that never appealed to me. In time, I learned that while long views can inspire me, I want to live day-to-day in a world of varied light. Shadows of the natural world are as important to me as the light itself.

In uniform light, a picture, or the world itself, lacks depth. A character in a novel illuminated only with flood lamp details is featureless, washed out, uninteresting. Only in the shadows can you see the wrinkles from years of squinting or over-tanning skin into leather.

Reflected Sunset

We have a dock from which we can watch the lake without the interference of tree trunks, branches and leaves. Guests often use it, but I rarely do other than for swimming. One of our neighbors has gone so far as to cut down almost all his trees to provide a “pristine” view of the lake. I find myself choosing the partially occluded view from the house deck in preference to the unobstructed view from the dock. I can watch waves through the gaps between trees; see a duck swim by and wait for it to appear in the next opening. From my perch I observe birds flitting from tree to tree. I catch the shadow of an eagle flying overhead.

Porch late afternoon

As leaves lose their battle to gravity and drop from branch to ground, the woods open up. At the same time, the sun is lower in the sky and trees cast longer shadows. Jan claims this view as her favorite time of year for light, but only, I think, because autumn is now approaching. If asked in early spring she would exalt over the woods seen in new light and the variety of greens the woods use to cloak themselves in leaf-wear.

Maybe I have chosen the wooded lakeshore because bright light hurts my eyes. Maybe I am fooling myself with my preference for subtlety and the shadow side of things. I don’t think so; I suspect the desire to understand the impact of shadow explains why I write mysteries.

 ~ Jim