The light dances across my bedroom floor later and later each day, slanting in at a different angle, and teasing me to take notice. Before I know it, its time with me each day dwindles to almost nothing.
It stopped me in my tracks this morning, lighting up this mundane laundry basket. Shadows and light tangoed back and forth in a seductive performance.
As I type, I'm thinking that if I had one of those oh so stylish blogs, my dirty laundry would repose in a hand woven wicker basket, maybe even one made of sweet grass. I'd artfully strew things alongside, some freshly picked flowers from my non existent gardens. My beautifully arranged dirt laundry might even be basking on some delightfully rumpled linen.
If I had any inclination to set up this delightful scene, the light would be long gone. I'd have to have arranged everything the night before and hope to heavens that Phil would not trip over it in the middle of the night.
Truth be told, I'd need to go buy that awesome basket and delightfully rumpled laundry.
So, no, what you see is a rather ordinary, cheap white laundry basket, most likely from Target or Walmart. It serves its purpose admirably, has done so for quite some time now, and hopefully will do so for quite some more time.
Cheap and ordinary though it might be, I've photographed it frequently. The light through the opens creates wonderful patterns, and I enjoy playing with my simple Iphone shots, hoping I managed to capture a bit of ordinary magic.
Capturing light keeps me engrossed for hours.
Some time ago, I would have told you that light is light is light. Not so.
Soft morning light.
The harsh midday light.
Dusky muted light.
Light dancing through tree leaves.
Light that leaves me squinting.
The light of the golden hours.
October light makes me smile, maybe more so than any other light. It brings with it soft golden magic, muted yet strong. I struggle to define what makes October light special, but any photographer knows it and knows its magic.
For now, I'll enjoy these last days of summer light, watching it shift each and every day.
I'll watch it, catalog it, photograph it.
I'll store it in my head, calling it back when I need it the most during winter's long days.
Light is magic, you know.