What does the dark hold?

Last evening I was called into the night by an owl. It was outside my window, in the tree by my front gate. It was not its soft ‘morepork’ call but a screeching; insistent. The sun down, still fairly light, it was unusual to hear an owl so early. A car came by, lights on, engine roaring, and the owl moved away, still screeching.

I ran downstairs, threw on my husband’s coat and went outside. In the half light I wandered around looking and listening for the owl. There have been times I think I’ve seen a dark shape passing across the near-dark sky, but I have never clearly seen an owl here at home. I really long to!
I didn’t see an owl last night. I did see something else, although it took a little while to reveal itself.

I walked slowly around the outside of the labyrinth, weaving around the wild circles, behind the grape house, under the gingko tree, under the totara. Just a soothing steady fall of feet, receiving and leaving voice messages with the lovely Marion Rose.

All the while, the evening grew dark, then darker. Stars appeared. The brightest, Sirius; then Orion’s belt, the Southern Cross and its two pointers, Alpha and Beta Centauri. Slowly, tiny stars began to pepper the sky.

Still I walked, moving by feel as the garden grew darker, although my eyes adjusted and allowed me to see for far longer than you’d expect. Time passed. Thoughts meandered, points connected, messages passed between Marion and I.

About half an hour after being outside, I stopped and looked up. I tipped my head back and squarely faced the sky. Above me was the Milky Way like the wide tail of a kite streaming overhead.

I’ve seen the Milky Way many, many times. I love stepping outside at night to see the stars. We walk out to watch the moon rise, or see Saturn or Jupiter. Sometimes we use the telescope, but often it’s just a quick wave at the sky, then back inside we go.

Let me tell you, there is a big difference between what we can see a few minutes after stepping out into the dark, and what we see after half an hour or more.

I did a stargazing course last year. One of the first things they covered was how long it takes for your eyes to adjust to the dark. The first stage, a minute or so, is your pupils dilating to let in as much light as possible. Within ten minutes the cone cells in your eyes adapt and you see even more. After forty to fifty minutes the eye’s rod cells have begun to adapt and our night vision is significantly expanded.

The difference is staggering. I was awestruck. Speechless. Even more so, I was staring at this panorama whilst in the midst of a profound and moving conversation about sitting with not-knowing.

Staring at the sky, out of my mouth came the words “look what you can see when you stay in the dark long enough”. And with that, I could feel the coming together. Like the two strands of a drawstring pulled closed, the night became a silken pouch, its jewel safely stored, ready to be taken out again and again to be gazed at—look what you can see what you stay in the dark long enough. What might you see if you sit with not-knowing?

And all thanks to the owl—she who sees in the dark.

Mary xx

p.s. this beautiful picture of a Ruru is by Lynne Jamneck, whose bird portraits I love. She shares her photography here on Instagram.