Stars and Light and Captured Time

Stars, Light, Time

❄️

The soft gray of predawn covers all, as colors await the light. As Venus awakens in the east. As all this happens, yet once again.

On occasion, I wake in the early hours, not knowing the exact time. But I have found, if I cock my head just so, I can see the stars out the window at the head of the bed. And at this time of year, there is one particularly bright star, which once it has reached the corner of my window, I know we are in the third hour of morning. That hour, where it seems the brain can go rampant on endless to-do lists, or reflect too heavily on life choices, or engage in senseless worry. You may know this hour yourself. But then, I digress.

That bright star is Sirius, from the constellation Canis Major (the Great Dog). It’s the brightest star in the winter sky. It’s 8.6 light years away. And it takes 8.6 years for its light to reach my window. Such distances are hard to wrap one’s head around. And yet, I use that aged light for something so mundane as telling time. I could just as easily turn my head and look at the clock on the nightstand. But then, there’s something special in using starlight to mark one’s place, in space and time. It’s past informing present. It’s ancient and innate perhaps. And there’s a certain comfort in knowing one is a part of something larger.

A pink blush starts in the eastern sky slowly, but quickly spans all the way to the northeast, tinting clouds even in the far west.

When I was a younger man, I was labeled a photographer. And recently, going through some things, I came across some old black and white photographs I had made some 30 years ago, or so. Strangely, I remembered in detail the whole process of making them — from exposing the film to making the prints in the darkroom.

I recall, I was testing a new lighting system for portraits. And with a long cable release attached to the camera, I used myself as the model. Today you would call that a “selfie”. But as I looked at that young man in the photograph, who was intently looking at me, I started to drift back in time. That young man, with absolutely no gray in his hair, was my past, and I his future.

It took me back to a time when cameras were large intricate marvelous machines. Machines designed solely for the purpose of controlling light and capturing time. Fractions of seconds frozen. And darkrooms, with their subdued reddish light, were the culmination of the whole process — the inner sanctum. It was little bit craft and a little bit art. It was alchemy. Creating a photograph back then took time…a lot of time.

And now, I look over at my phone, and with a press of a finger and a few swipes in the app, I can do in seconds what took that young man hours to do. I look back at the photograph and wonder, would he be amazed or would he be saddened.

Suddenly there’s a small twinge, and I find myself missing the old ways. But a closer look at the photograph and I see I have bent the edge, or did I bend it 30 years ago? After all, it was just a test and images can be such fragile things.

The clouds in the East suddenly explode in all manners of reds and golds and colors that change so rapidly they would be hard to name. And if this action had sound, it would be deafening.

Light holds memory. We understand night and day because they repeat. We understand seasons for the same reason. We can comprehend a lifetime, because we remember.

And here we are at Christmas again. That season which is all wrapped up in lights and time. And stars, of course, come into play. I am so grateful that my mind has retained so many bits and pieces of Christmases past — snapshots. Some come back to me as vintage black and white and others as uproarious color. But they all play a very special part in the making of this Christmas. I now know, that time is not linear, for I move back and forth in my mind so easily this time of year. And everyone, past and present, is still there, again. So, here’s wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and let’s all make good memories, once again.

At last, a star breaks the horizon, our star, the Sun. Its light sweeps across the cold, warming as it goes. It is sunrise on another Christmas morning. And the light has returned.

❄️

Patrick Spirit, Christmas 2025

HEAVY

Artist’s Midden

This morning started cloudy and cold, with clouds that looked weighted and anticipatory. But then, much of February has seemed heavy and filled with anticipation. We are 60 days into Winter, but it feels decidedly longer. So much is swirling about these days, it’s hard to stay above it all. The air is so thick. So, I will narrow my focus, away from the news of the day, and start with something significantly lower. Something nearer to the ground. I caught a pack rat last night.

He started building a nest (which I found out is called a midden) at the base of a small juniper out front, earlier this month. With time, this particular midden has grown and is made up of twigs and pieces of cactus and whatever else the rat finds interesting. The bits of cactus are supposedly to keep predators at bay. I suppose they work. But he was also breaking off small branches from the juniper, as well as stripping bark from it to add to the nest. I was beginning to fear for the health of the tree. So, I decided he had to go, cactus or not.

I sat one of those Havahart ® traps. Baited it with peanut butter. And caught him the second night. But he was trapped early in the evening, just about dark. I discovered him shortly before 9 p.m. And I knew, with all the creatures that roam about this desert at night, I couldn’t leave him sitting out there exposed in that trap until morning. The consequences could be rather dire. So I moved him and the trap into the garage for the night. I’ll admit, my sleep was a bit broken as I woke up a few times and thought of him there in the garage, alone.

But, at daybreak this morning, under those heavy clouds, I drove him a few miles away and set him loose in an open field. He ran a couple of yards and turned and looked at me. Stared actually. I have seen this reaction more than once over the years from rodents. Upon release, they often seem confused or surprised. Second chances don’t seem to be in their DNA. Perhaps his stare was one of gratitude. Or perhaps it was just a question like — What now? I whispered to no one in particular — just Live, damn it!

I drove home silently, as the sun peaked out briefly. It was bright in my eyes for a moment and then was consumed just as quickly by the same heavy clouds. I so wanted there to be a hero in this story. Possibly the rat or possibly me, but all I felt was empty.

Sometimes choices in life are clear. Clear as day. Sometimes they’re not. Do you turn left or do you turn right? Do you build your house under a tree? Or do you take a rat for a ride? Alone in that car, I repeated my pseudo sage advice — just Live, damn it!

Note: Later, as I was about to start work, I looked around my cluttered studio. Recent drawings and watercolors strewn about everywhere, and it dawned on me — an Artist’s Midden. The rat and I were kindred souls, I suppose, and his haunting stare suddenly made perfect sense. 🖤