Liminal

Dusk is a liminal time, the transition from day to night, ever changing. A winter walk at dusk is particularly special, a feast for the senses. 

At first my fingers screamed in response to the cold, but were soon glowing as warm blood from my core restored their equilibrium. Breathing in the frosty air invigorated me, heightening my perception - my body felt truly alive.

An overcast sky had put paid to any prospect of a sunset, but a small orange glow in the western sky gradually suffused the bland afternoon clouds with soft shades of lemon, coral, peach and rose. In turn, the ice on the frozen lake was transformed into a sheet of soft burnished copper and gold.

A small area of ice-free water was crowded with birds. Wigeon, Mallard and Gadwall dabbled for food, while keeping up a chorus of low grunts and whistles. On the edge of the ice a Carrion Crow scolded a Black-headed Gull who had just eaten a mussel, while a Common Gull stood by, aloof from the proceedings. Moorhens skittered over its surface like ungainly dancers. And close to the shore a Little Grebe, a tiny ball of brown fluff, dived beneath the surface, searching for supper.

In the half-light small birds flew across my path, Wrens and Robins scarcely perceptible, like wind-blown leaves, seeking the shelter of thick brambles and scrub to protect themselves from the freezing night. I could hear their soft churring as they settled, while in the distance a Pheasant called.

As I crossed Ferry Bridge I stopped to touch the ice crystals on its old stone walls, knowing that they would be gone by tomorrow evening as warm air from the south brought the thaw. I looked up to see that the cloud had cleared to reveal Mars and Jupiter shining brightly, promising one last starlit, frosty night.