Between Lights 02

Some evenings, light does not simply fade, but stages an overt disagreement with the sky. It gathers beneath dark clouds, turns the horizon briefly incandescent, and catches trees, poles, signs, and traffic lights in silhouette, reducing the neighborhood to a thin layer of outlines.

For a few minutes, ordinary infrastructure acquires a feeble dignity, probably because the light conceals the atrocities we routinely inflict upon it. Street lamps reach into an illuminated background, commercial signage becomes an appropriate impromptu caption, and a familiar boulevard appears to lead somewhere considerably less routine than usual, most likely to Hell.

The same roads, buildings, wires, and trees will remain once the display is over, so nothing in these scenes has actually changed. But between daylight and artificial light, the city briefly loses its usual proportions and becomes outright set against the sky above it.