Sunday, November 09, 2003


It’s a quiet Sunday morning and I’m sitting in the study gazing out of the window at the light of the early morning sun on the rooftops and trees in our little corner of South East England. The sky is almost clear; just an early morning haze and a few wisps of high cloud. There’s a gentle breeze – enough movement in the tree tops to show that time hasn’t quite stood still; the world’s heart is still ticking but mostly it’s still asleep. Except for the birds of course for whom Sunday morning is just the same as any other morning.

The sunlight at this time of day has a special quality; the haze gives it softness, the golden quality of sunrise hasn’t yet been lost, but above all the low angle of the light gives the whole scene a unique feel.

I’ve often noticed this quality of low-angled light. The way the whole world faces expectantly towards the sun – there seems to be an alignment, a unity, in animate and inanimate alike; the way the longer shadows enhance three-dimensionality; the colours more saturated, the contrast heightened.

I must have seen the effect a thousand times, yet the transforming power of light never ceases to inspire.

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