Church Spire Rise
I saw this photograph on a local Facebook page. The photographer Carlo Fontanarosa gave me permission to share it.
It is taken from the old cemetery in my home town of Middleton, and the church is that of St.Leonard’s. Standing on the highest part of the town, it dominates the view both spiritually and geographically.
Part of the building dates back to Norman times, and it is built on the site of a wooden Saxon church. There is even speculation that there was a pagan religious site before this.
All those layers, but its greatest historic significance is that it is where I got married!
I love this shot, it has everything: history; place; wilderness; memories. And to cap it all, it is taken at dusk, my favourite part of the day.
Blackbird Songstress of the twilight that follows your flight. I am lost in your song; on the dark of your wing. Awash and away from pale, new beginnings. You lead in your dance of shadow and light, in the time-between-time you call into being. We straddle the threshold of worlds, you and I. Foreseeing each birth and all endings. ©AJM
I overheard a conversation today between two people. I didn’t intentionally listen, but they were sat behind me on the bus, and so I was a captive eavesdropper. They were talking about what their favourite time of the day was.
By favourite time, I don’t mean 2.34am, or 15.12pm. Rather, the portion of day that they preferred.
One announced that he was a morning person. The other snorted, claiming that he had always been a ‘night owl’.
As we carve up the year into seasons into months into weeks into days into hours, I suppose we cannot help but hold them to comparison and have preferences.
My favourite season is Winter. My favourite half of the year begins with Autumn. Or Fall, as they put it more poetically across the pond.
But what about my favourite time of the day?
I love twilight, that time when the daylight noticeably falters and fades. If I feel the need to get out for a walk, this would be my preferred time. There is a definite sense of the world settling down, of things moving at a slower rhythm. As dusk approaches, there is a welcoming of shadows.
We can get all technical about it. We can name and describe the different stages
But I don’t need to know this. It is more about experiencing the slowing of momentum, the effect on the senses, as the shadows grow, the air cools, and the blackbird greets the approaching night with its final song.
The blackbird is always the last bird that I hear.
The local herald that draws the line.
The Celts knew twilight as the time-between-time.
The time between time. I love that, a liminal time where boundaries blur. A distinct hinterland where thresholds are crossed.
This is a time of magic where the raucous slips into repose. Where the senses of clarity are undercut by dark imaginings.
This is the time that I find the most inspirational.
But what about you? Early bird or night owl?
Image from Wikipedia