The Gloaming

The first time I heard the word 'gloaming' was in the Radiohead song of the same name. I understood what it meant but hadn't incorporated it into my vocabulary as twilight and dusk had always sufficed to describe my favorite part of day. In my photography class this past semester I learned the phrase entre chien et loup, which literally translated means between the dog and the wolf. I liked it because it was poetic. While I could enjoy it, I figured that living my whole life in brightly lit urban areas, I had never experienced it.
Until last Monday, when I was on the train going back to Brooklyn over the Wmsburg Bridge. Everything was different shades of gray from a soft purple to a dusty blue. Even the electric light seemed dimmed by the seeping grayness. When I'd gone underground into the station, the last glowing embers of the sun had still been visible, but in the few minutes I'd waited for the train, the sun had disappeared and only the half light remained. It was really beautiful and it reminded me of a song I hadn't heard in years. By the time the train reached the Brooklyn shore, darkness had fallen.
I meant to write about it here but put it off until I read the word gloaming in two different places. The first time I'd ever seen it in print. It seemed like a sign.