1. Wednesday February 1, 2012 at about 3:15 AM. I was in my room in Liberty Hall—the bottom floor, with a window facing Oak Street.
2. The light was a combination of three sources: The amber glow of Hofstra’s lamps, The halogen streetlights on Oak Street, and the headlights of cars passing by. All of these lights came through my window, broken up by the venetian blinds half-closed.
3. Your dorm room at 3:15 AM is not where you would expect to be experiencing a moment with light. My room remains rather bright for three hours past midnight. The blinds are old and bent, and don’t close all of the way. They don’t exactly do a great job of blinding. It isn’t exactly foggy, but weather is moving in, and diffusing the light from the lamps around the building. The result is an amber glow filling my dorm, broken into even bars across the room. The passing headlights reach the inside of my room for only a moment, then gone. A flash of white—and gone. It’s late, the cars are rather infrequent, but occasionally there will suddenly be a group. One. Two. Three. As the cars pass headed North, white bars race across my wall above my head. The moment passes. These headlights return me to my room at home—with a room on the corner and windows facing the street, that same light show would play above my head as I fell asleep every night. A flash of light. The moment passes. And gone.