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"And here face downward in the sun/ To feel how swift how secretly/ The shadow of the night comes on ..."
“The Shadow of the Night”
Since childhood, I have always tried to hold on to the beautiful, passing days, only to have them slip through my fingers as dusk came too soon. The grasses turn to old gold, then black at night and back to green, and new gold again at dawn. This photograph reminds me of all the sunsets on all the marshes I have stood before in rapture. It was taken at Fall Creek, outside Lowell, Oregon. Here, the rushing creek enters the lakebed across a long delta.
The title comes from a poem by Archibald MacLeish called “To You, Andrew Marvell.” It is a wonderful poem about the way the terminator line constantly circles the earth, that moving boundary between night and day. These are the final lines:
And here face downward in the sun
To feel how swift how secretly
The shadow of the night comes on ...
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