TWIRLY

I leave the house far too early these days… or "twirly" as I might want to put it if I'm in the mood.

You see, the year may change, the days might get shorter, and the darkness of the night is reaching further and further into what was once the dominion of daylight, but my human schedule, based around a particular train departing from a particular place at a particular time, remains fairly fixed, meaning that that special moment when I drive up the hill to that favoured spot is becoming darker by the day, and the sun's arrival is getting later and later, so that the spectacular hues of a glorious sunrise quite regularly haven't actually happened yet.

I find myself cursing at being tied to a schedule as spectacular tints fill the sky as I pull up at traffic lights or speed along past bus lanes, and are hidden by office blocks and factories, and the most glorious sights are only to be glimpsed out of the corner of my peripheral vision, or open up before me as I sweep along the overpass in a "No Stopping" zone.

My own "photo opportunities" become full of slate greys that are full of promises and potential but find me in the right place at the wrong time, whilst spectacular reds, oranges and yellows remain the province of more patient or less time-laden lenses.

I was hoping for a full moon to sit suspended above an wide open cityscape, but instead was only greeted by the flat greys of a drizzly dawn, but then, ten minutes later, as I rounded a particularly tricky bend, a gap opened up in the sky revealing a glorious glowing moon just where I'd wanted it to be, but far too late for me to benefit from it, unfortunately, other than in the usual ways in which we all benefit from having the moon, of course.

And after months of snapping clouds with my teffalone and getting results which had varying degrees of success, a couple of nights ago, I was hurtling along the motorway towards a sunset which I can only describe as "epic" - one which kept on getting better and better - and all I could do was simply marvel at its beauty as there was nowhere that I could possibly stop and record its spectacular majesty.

Instead it joins my growing mental list of "the ones that got away" and I am left with mornings which grow, like my moods, ever darker...