It’s 8:30 in the evening when I walk out the doors from the gym.  A crescent moon hangs in the sky and billowing white clouds are illuminated with light reflected from the setting sun.  The air is warm but not hot and I can smell the familiar scent of freshly mowed grass.  Crickets singing in the distance serenade me as I walk across the asphalt parking lot to my car.  I feel a sudden surge of gratitude for long summer days that linger into the twilight hours like a lover who can’t seem to say good bye.  It’s as if time has expanded itself with the extended hours of sunlight giving me the illusion of more space in my day.

It’s curious to notice how my habits shift with the changing patterns of daylight.  I’ve heard a horse looses its winter coat when the days lengthen and not when the temperature changes.  I suppose light affects me much the same way.  I shed the schedules of colder and shorter days that are limited by dark mornings and early night fall.  How refreshing to take a hike at seven in the evening, or five-thirty in the morning for that matter, not that I ever choose the early option.  Sitting down to dinner on the the back deck at 8 pm is a common occurence and I notice I need less sleep in the summer as my body attunes itself with the rhythms of the sun.

Life takes on an expanded quality in the summer, one that feels less rushed.  I have read that natural daylight increases a person’s productivity, concentration and short-term memory.  People are so connected with sunlight that they will naturally gravitate to interior spaces that have windows on two sides.  From ancient times, communities have been linked to the natural cycles of daylight with work, sleep and play revolving around the rise and fall fo the sun.  What I observe in myself is an inclination to allow more time for play as the days get longer.  Even my husband takes advantage of the evening light, heading out to the Boulder reservoir after work for a late afternoon sail.  He slips onto the deck of his C-scull sailboat and pushes off into the water as shallow waves lap against the hull of his boat and a breeze gently caresses his face – one of the sweet gifts of long summer days.  After tying his boat off to an anchor, he calls me from his cell phone to let me know he’ll be home soon.  I glance at my watch.  It’s almost nine o’clock and the sky is just beginning to show signs of shifting into darkness.