The balm of summer drifting towards darkness. What excitement/anticipation/threat hangs in those hours. In fact I think it has to be less than hours, because really the time in which you become aware of the night approaching, of the possibility of fun things and dark things, starts more than an hour and a half before the sun has fully set. In my mind these moments are best encapsulated by deep summer nights spent in London parks. The carefree, innocent fun of playing and lounging about slowly being replaced by thoughts of more sinful pleasures. The heat languishing in the air, the necessary procedures beginning, city lights below an orange sky.
One evening in Cordoba, on my way home at about 9pm, I stopped on the barrier in the middle of the road, waiting for the oncoming traffic to pass, and suddenly some perfect symmetry of headlights, lampposts, tower blocks and the apricot ceiling appeared like a mirage. Stepping out of the present, or stepping into the present really, gave me a small moment of treasured beauty. I’d never seen a sky like that before, and I don’t think I ever will again.