My commuting observations have changed in recent weeks. When I leave at 6 a.m., and when I’m returning 11 hours, later it is dark. I can’t see my raptors soaring. I can’t see the bend of the earth on the treeless horizon. I can’t see farmers in their fields or the green wheat sprouting up in staggeringly straight rows. I can only see as far as my headlights will allow.
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| Moonlight behind the clouds. Wind turbine not really visible. |
This blanket of darkness sometimes feels oppressive and confining. It is especially nerve-wracking when rain, freezing fog, or other adverse weather conditions are present. I don’t think I’m a fan of the dark. A whole week had passed before I was home during daylight and realized that the leaves were literally 4 inches deep in the yard.
If I am truthful, however, the dark holds it’s own delights. The full moon, partially visible, back lighting thin clouds is surprisingly bright. The blade of the wind turbines flutter in the moon light to an almost disco effect. Creatures are still present causing my pulse to quicken whenever they materialize in my headlight beam.
When I pass the halfway point in my travels - either to or from Hood River - the rising and setting suns distract me in my rearview mirror. One evening, a stunning view of Mt. Hood silhouetted against the autumn sunset, forced me to pull off the road and turn around at the Mountain Viewpoint on 206 just to gaze upon it. There are definitely delights in my dark travels. Delightful God moments.
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