Figuring out what to photograph for my solstice vigil in 2020 proved more challenging than in years past. I had big plans for the year 2020, including a weekly Picture Tells a Story post, which fell by the wayside as the pervasive anxiety and isolation of the pandemic set in. For most of us in the United States fortunate enough to have them, the vast majority of 2020 has been experienced through the lens of our homes, so my husband suggested that this year my vigil be entirely centered around our rented house in southern Maine.
Sunset: Attic Window
Sony A7iii w/Sigma 14-24mm f2.8 ISO160, 3.2s, f14 HDR
On the Solstice, the sun sets into a stand of trees that border our property to the southwest. At the best of times, this makes for less than ideal sunset viewing conditions, but go up to the attic window, looking out across the garage roof, and the sunset can sometimes be quite lovely. December in New England can be fickle though, and my 2020 vigil begins with the slow fade of the sky, as slate gray turns to battleship gray, to charcoal, and finally to the deep blackness of the longest night of the year. Though unlike so many other years and vigils before, the fading light doesn’t leave me chilled, as I never left the warmth of our little house, which has been both refuge and confinement for the last ten months or so.
Deep of the Night: Qwib-Qwib
Sony A7iii w/Sony 24mm f.4, ISO100, 1/50, f1.4 HDR
As I pass into the deepest part of the Long Night, I find myself in the garage with Qwib-Qwib, our 1974 BMW Airhead motorcycle. This forty-six year old piece of motoring history played a major role in maintaining my mental health over the course of 2020’s COVID summer. When we got the bike in June, he was in running shape, but suffering from years of neglect and idleness.
At a time when I, like so many people this year, felt powerless over forces well beyond my control, being able to retreat to the garage and spend time making Qwib-Qwib run better and safer, was vital to giving me the feeling of having some control over the world around me. Outside the garage there was a raging pandemic and multiple contentious elections, but I could go in there for several hours, and when I was done, I could say that I’d had a positive impact on something, even if it was just slowly restoring a tired, antique, motorcycle to its proper running condition.
Return of the Light: Ornament
Sony A7iii w/Opteka 15mm f4 Macro, ISO1250, 1/80, f11
Not being raised Christian or Pagan, I never had a decorated tree in my house growing up, at the holidays or any other time. As a rule, my feelings towards Christmas are in fact quite negative, with good reason, and I resisted my husband(s)’ desire for a tree for decades.
But if ever there was a year when adding a symbol of life, light, and joy into our household made sense, it was this one. Amid the stress and anxiety of this difficult year, and as the year has descended into not only figurative, but literal darkness, having the lovely ridiculousness of the tree in our living room alcove has frequently brought a smile to my face.
With the dawn of the waxing year breaking on a crystal clear sky, what better way to welcome the return of the light, than through the lens of a symbol of light in the darkness?
A long, cold, winter still lies ahead, but on the same day that Maine received our first shipment of the Moderna vaccine, with the Pfizer vaccine already in limited roll-out, the brilliant rays of the new sun promises that the spring will return in time.
Note: for HDR photos, I provided the EXIF data of one image of the HDR set