- Walking past Colonial Square looking towards the towers at 6:30 pm on Tuesday, February 28
- It was nighttime and there was a great deal of fog, so you couldn’t see the towers at all. You could only see the lampposts and outdoor lighting and the vague glow of windows from lit up rooms in the towers.
- In the dark sea of fog, each of the lampposts created an orb of color, some orange, some yellow, some white, some blue. They were a show of strength against the cold mist that clouded over all the buildings and cars, leaving only the faint suggestion that there was life underneath the big, ominous purple sky.
- Tuesday, January 31 at 7:45pm outside Spiegel Theatre, looking at the path leading towards the weird statue.
- By this point in the night, it was almost completely dark, so pretty much the only light was coming from the lampposts and reflecting off of the snow that covered the ground.
- This moment felt very calm; the darkness was heavy but the soft balls of light provided a sense of hope by illuminating the natural beauty of a fresh coat of snow over the trees and the grass. The light also reflected the slick wet pavement of the pathway through these trees—this told me that though the storm was over, it wouldn’t be forgotten any time soon.
1. March 31st 2014, at around 8 on my block.
2. The lampposts on my block. One in particular: A flickering light post. They had an orange and yellow glow around a dark area.
3. On Old Post Drive, you can walk down the block in a beautifully illuminated area. Each step you take is lit up by towering light posts that cast pale shades of orange. They leave very faint circles of light on the floor so late night joggers can see in the dark night sky. One area of my block wasn’t bright as the rest of it. A flickering lamppost kept casting rays of light that lasted for seconds. When the light was on, the sidewalk was lit to perfection with faint glows of orange. When the lamppost was off, part of the block was lost in darkness.
1) 2/7/13, 6:50PM, Outside Vander Poel Hall
2) The lampposts were lit, a few emitting a white light, and a few emitting an orange light. There was one among the group of lights that emitted a violet light unlike any emitted from any other lamp. The violet light was almost entirely surrounded by the other lights on the sidewalk.
3) The violet light stood out. It stood out among the rest of the lights, a trumpet’s screech among the soothing sounds of flutes. And yet, as the other sets of lights surrounded this purple intruder, they did not smother its individuality, encompassing it in a wave of orange and white. Rather, they allowed it to blend with them to serve a common goal. The area had to be lit, and in exchange for allowing this rebellion of color to continue, the light must remain and spread its bright light to the ground, the wall, and the air around it.
Tuesday 14 February, 2012 (any night, really)
My dorm room
Around 1:30 am
The blinds are down over our 9′-0″ x 4′-0″ window, slats pointed up. The orangeish-red of the lampposts outside and down seven stories gently furnishes our room. Faint stripes of orange are visible across the far upper wall and ceiling and the room is cast in a subtle orange glow mixed in with the dark of nighttime.
I’m reminded of just how awake I am this late at night. The room is never in the full black of night, the way the campus is never unlit. Artificial light seeps into every corner making it quite easy to move about when my roommate’s asleep, regardless of the vain attempt of sleep-worthy dark. The campus is never fully asleep, even when it’s inhabitants are. It can’t be to ensure a respectable amount of safety. In a way it’s comforting – nothing is ever unseen, hardly anything is missed. But for now all I can think is how my eyes are still open, fully adjusted to the dark, and I can still make out all the details of my shoe rack, vaguely tucked away into a corner. I wish I were asleep.
Monday 6 February, 2012
Outside Emily Lowe Hall and the Cranford Adams Playhouse
Around 8:00 pm
I’m walking from Lowe towards the Playhouse and I see the moon in the sky. It’s visible through the branches of one of the trees and is framed on either side by the lampposts outside of the Playhouse.
I appreciated that the first thing I noticed, despite the tree branches, despite the shining lampposts, and despite the overall light pollution that shrouds Long Island was the visibility and brightness of the moon. It was just that shade of yellow that’s hinting at a harvest moon to come, and it’s appearance through the tree branches against the pitch black backdrop was beautiful. But the invading abruptness of the unnatural light from the lampposts added a certain level of sinisterness to it, as if the lampposts were planning on overcompensating for something and outshining the moon so much that it would be drowned out forever.