In the one small building on the edge of the property, the day’s last band practice is in full thrum.
Silence has settled on the landscape. There are no more cars crunching up the gravel driveway. The warning bells and screeching wheels of the evening trains have also ceased. Aside from the muffled beat of drums, the only sounds are the birds’ nighttime calls.
The sky above turns midnight blue – that color of blue that takes a deep breath before dropping to black. The final light of day shines between the trunks of the trees, in shades of orange and gold. They seem slender, almost delicate, as if holding onto the last vestiges of the sun’s warmth. The leaves begin to blur together, until they are nothing more than ragged-edged smudges, punctuated only by stray sparks of light from the traffic behind. The final light of day decreases in intensity minute by minute, until the trees muddle into darkness.
The one bright light still shining is from the single globe above the door to the music studio. Outside of its glow, the field and trees now go black. At full darkness, I put the lens cap onto the camera and turn it off, grateful to have seen this unexpected gift of beauty and mystery. I lean against the car, totally alone in that moment, waiting for my husband and his guitar to emerge from the building.