I love the word ‘gloaming’ – it sounds like what it is. A moment caught between between gloomy, glowing and dreaming. In the early fall there are these moments in the gloaming when I get in the car and start driving with the windows down. The usually black roads take on a surreal purple glow as the white paint dashes fly by. Outside of the glow, it’s hard to focus on the distance – somehow it’s at too bright and too dark at once to convince my eyes to adjust to the available light. Only the road and the things on it stay in focus as the warm wind whistles by outside the window and the smell of the city recedes into warm grass and swaying trees. It feels like another world must be over the horizon, just over the this hill, right after that curve. Some magical place there’s no other way to reach. All the stress and tiredness from the day drifts away on the breeze and I feel like I could drive forever into that twilight road.
I wonder sometimes what will happen if I just keep driving. If I win my sunset race with the gloaming will I turn that last corner and find Avalon or Shambhala? Or is it the road opening up in front of me the magic instead of the destination. Having lived in brick for a long hot summer, is it time to find somewhere new to be for the winter? Am I racing the turning of the season instead of the turning of the day into night. I can hear it whispering to me through my open window: “This is the way to the next adventure. There’s something wondrous a heartbeat further down the road.” In a few more seconds I’ll be able to see it.
Some fall night, I’m going to follow the glow on the road and see where it takes me. Don’t fret, if I find the road to somewhere new, I’ll come back and show you the path. If I don’t find anything, well, I’ll just have to try again another fall evening. I’m sure there’s something making that intoxicating smell and mesmerizing glow.
