It all starts so subtly. Little glimmers you spot every now and again. Perhaps you ditch the scarf for a day or two or you return home and realise that it’s not quite as dark as it was at the same time the week before. And then it picks up pace. For the first time in months, you can actually feel the sun on the bridge of your nose and you notice the odd smudge of colour as spring bulbs begin their ascent to the surface and beyond.
Summer, gone for what seems like a lifetime, is suddenly in grasp. An achievable aim.
But where I really start to notice the shifting of seasons is how the days begin to lengthen. Our homes, streets and environments are transformed as lighter mornings and evenings start to become the norm. After what seemed like perpetual darkness, patterns of light gradually begin to appear. It might be a bedroom window glowing as the early sun reflects off of it, a passing stranger’s shadow stretching out before you, or the sun clipping just the very tip of a commuter’s forehead as they wait for a train home. Whatever it may be, the delicate tones and candy skies of dawn and dusk put on a show.
The transition to spring is my favourite time and it was this shift in light that I wanted to photograph in and around our seaside city. So, this past week I headed out with camera in hand to capture how the light was falling in the stillness of the early morning and evening. It’s easy to take such moments for granted, but the more I’ve sought to capture these scenarios, the more I appreciate them and celebrate them. Spring, thank you for deciding to come back around – we’ve missed you.
Written by Piers McEwan the One Thinking Man