The Reason for Dusk

Dusk is a daily gift for older people

Ibis flying above Evergreen at dusk to find a place to roost for the night.

What do you do at dusk?

 What do you do as the sun sinks soundlessly below the horizon and the sky blazes with last-minute colour?

Many of us take photos, then as the colours are replaced by ever-darkening shades of grey, we lose interest, rub our arms against the sudden chill, go inside, and turn on all the lights so we can pretend it’s still daytime.

But maybe we should stay outside a bit longer and sit in the growing darkness.

In her book, Bloomer: Embracing a Late-Life Flourishing, Carol Lefevre wrote that dusk is when we become more aware of our vulnerabilities, our memories and yearnings.

Spending quiet time outside in the dusk is a privilege available to many older people because we don’t have little folk who need our support and attention. But old habits keep hanging around and we tend to do what we’ve always done. We rush inside.

But what happens if we stay outside?

What happens if we stand still in the gloom and open ourselves to thoughts and feelings that Lefevre hints at and for which there’s normally no room for in the hurly-burly of sun-drenched days?

*

Today, as dusk falls, I decide to sit outside and keep company with my vulnerabilities, memories and yearnings.

 

Vulnerabilities

In the semi-dark I face my top vulnerability, which is my age. Seven decades is a good innings but it would be nice to have at least another decade (or two). I close my eyes and sit with that thought. In the quiet stillness I can feel my heart beating. Who knows how long it will continue to do so? Not me. Not my G.P. Not the mystic living on the other side of the hill. So, I’ll just have to live with this vulnerability and make each day and night I’m granted worthwhile.

Memories

As the light fades even more, a vivid memory throws me back to when I was eleven years old, travelling with my family across Australia from Perth to Sydney in the mid-1960s. In my mind’s eye I watch Dad light the tilly lamp as dusk settles around our khaki ex-army tent pitched on the Nullabor Plain. The blue paraffin flame; the glow of the mantle on fire; the metal clunk and hiss as Dad pumps air into the glass; the growing light dispersing the gloom, making me feel safe in the strange, haunting silence of the outback. More memories line up behind that one, ready to be relived and delighted in, but I put them aside because now it’s time to move on to yearnings.

Yearnings

Initially I dismiss yearnings as something I’ve outgrown. But the longer I sit in the deepening darkness the more I realise that I still have one yearning left, and that is to be worthy of the age I am.

• To have the steady gaze of an owl.

• To rest in the stillness of a frog on a reed.

• To sense the glimmer in my being that mirrors the light from a distant star.

*

Dusk is a daily gift from nature for older people.

It helps us face our fears, encourages us to spend meaningful time with memories, and reminds us that we are part of a great oneness that is beyond comprehension.

As I resolve to spend more time outside in future dusks, I watch a few late ibis fly overhead, seeking a roost for the night in the distant line of trees. I doubt they’re pondering vulnerabilities, memories or yearnings, but I’m glad I have.

I linger a little longer with the friendly dusk, till the winter chill sends me, gratefully, indoors.

A close-up of the ibis.

 With love, Marlane