Two weeks after the autumn equinox, I am shrouded in darkness on my walks to work. From now until early March, there will be no sunlight to brighten my path and the surrounding landscape will be a mosaic of shadows.
Of course, there will be a much better chance to see the creatures of the night. Opossums may waddle across the road, raccoons may inspect the garbage cans and the faint silhouette of an owl may appear in a roadside shade tree or drift silently toward the nearby woods. And then there's the sky, with its moonlit clouds and brilliant stars, reminding me that our darkened planet is but a speck in this vast universe.
This morning's walk was highlighted by a flock of nighthawks, careening about the floodlights of a campus sports field. Feasting on moths to fuel their migration, they are heading south toward balmy weather and longer days and will not return until May flowers adorn our suburbs. By then, I will have walked many miles through the darkness of central Missouri, through cold rain and slushy snow, beneath thick clouds and star-filled skies. The edge of the dark season has indeed arrived.
