I'll always be from Texas, but I've lived in western Massachusetts for almost thirty years now. This has become home, this constellation of towns where these old soft hills cup the sky in a gentle embrace.
I left Texas at seventeen. I've lived here almost twice as long as I ever lived there. And yet some inchoate sense of time and light and season was set there. And those are different here. It draws me up short.
Every year I know I need to brace myself against winter's long nights, maybe because the days were never that brief where I grew up. I have to remind myself how to seek the beauty in short winter days.
And every year I swoon at summer evenings, how the late light gilds the green hills and pinks the sky at the western horizon. I text friends: It's almost 9pm and it's not even dark yet, what is this magic?!
No magic, of course. Just life at latitude 42.7, as opposed to 29.4. Remember those circles around the globe? I grew up near the Tropic of Cancer. I live now near the midpoint between equator and pole.
I was born on the spring equinox (more or less). It seems appropriate, somehow, that I have settled more or less at another midpoint. And oh, how I love these brightest months of the solar year here.
How good it is to sit outside and listen to twilight birdsong as Shabbat gives way to a new week, and to gaze with wonder at the sky -- always changing, always perfect, and at this time of year, full of light.
Related: Evening sky, 2018.