Last night I saw a production of Twelfth Night by the Bard. This is one of those confusing plays where there's cross-dressing involved and people accidentally falling in love with people of the same sex because they think that they're in reality of the opposite and only to find that in some cases they're being betrayed by the same person who they think is someone else... put it this way, if you were to draw a chart of who loves who and who thinks who is who in the play you'd end up with a twisted scribble on the paper that looks like Junction 6 on the M6 outside of Birmingham or more commonly refered to as Spaghetti Junction or officially the Gravelly Hill Interchange.
After I'd left the theatre I had to walk across a public park with what once would have been gaslamps. I would have taken a photograph except that the light meter told me that it wasn't worth the effort given the slow speed of film I was using.
Under electric light the world was bathed in a softness that you don't get with the blinding flash of daylight. Rows of lights on board ferries plied their way across the harbour and the Harbour Bridge takes on a steely green hue and is surrounded by zillions of birds and bats.
Even the Opera House begins to look like some fandangoed object of homemade art you might find at an agricultural fair. Set against the giant Christmas tree of winking lights they call the city, it's positively serene.
No wonder Shakespeare wrote Twelfth Night set against the scene of twilight. It's a convienient backdrop to set up a case of confusion because people can't see very well, but by the same token, if you step into such a world it is real purdy like.
Moonlight is only 1/5000th the power of the sun. It conjures up images of horse-drawn carriages in the park or perhaps those frosty driveway lights leading up to some country estate. A cosy cottage nestled out in the crook of a valley of a windswept moor, the glistening of splish-splashes in a calm sea.
"Swear not by the inconstant moon who monthly changes in her circled orb"