Thursday, August 27, 2009

Magic Hour

At 14, I joined the yearbook photo staff because... (why does any 14-year-old do anything?)... I had a crush on the editor. Although he never swung his tousled locks to look my way nor used his un-teenly deep voice to speak to me directly, I did overhear him once use the term "magic hour". It's the time before sunset when the brightness fades, colors glow, and shadows are long and clear.
It's the time that artists love. It reminds me of September.
As much as we appreciate summer and all the abundance it chucks at us, we thoroughly enjoy the day we stop squinting from the light and heat of it all. In September, the sun has our backs and our eyes start to open.
Yesterday, Joy, the tireless solver of summer's endless furniture problems, was quietly creating something new. She built a display rack that looks like it came out of an old west saloon. She pieced together an asymmetrical butcher block with some antique turned legs and it's perfect. I'm suddenly arranging flowers and writing into this blog that hasn't wanted anything to do with me for months. My friends are making art out of delicate stones
and fiery bones.

It's like waking up from a sweaty nap at sunset, and stepping out into the long, cool evening.

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