Morning Dark

The days are getting shorter, no surprise there. The sun is rising later, now well past 6:30. At this time of year, my morning walk begins and ends in the dark. One of the (many) things I love about the Arboretum is the lack, at least on the Peters Hill side, of street lights. The only lights shine in from Walter Street, especially when the leaves have fallen.

So it’s dark when I walk.

Objects are ambiguous and difficult to read. It’s hard to know if you’re looking at a rabbit or a bunch of leaves. I notice how I work to fill in the details I can’t see, based on, well, actually very little. I’m often wrong, mistaking a trash container for a runner or a shrub for a coyote.

It reminds me how often in daily life I make assumptions about what I’m seeing or hearing, assumptions based, at best, on my expectations. So, as I walk in the dark of daylight’s beginning, I notice and appreciate my mistakes. They remind me that the world – and people – may be more complex than I expect and more nuanced than I imagine.