My favorite time of the day. A time of transition: right before the sun lights up the sky or bows out for the day in a brilliant display of colors from orange to pink to red.
When I’m working in the house, I often find myself stopping whatever work I’m doing and just looking out the window during that magical hour in the afternoon. I don’t get a view like the travel photos below–just our next door neighbor’s white wall getting a hint of orange, rooftops, and trees against a blue-pink sky–but it’s enough to make me stop and just look outside.
I love how the soft light of magic hour can make an old, decrepit building at a street corner relive its glory years. How it can make a row of cranes by a port seem more dramatic and beautiful. And how it can suddenly make you sentimental and engage in pathetic attempts at poetry.
Next week, I’ll be venturing into something unfamiliar. Transitions can be scary. You don’t know how you’ll come out of it. But the anxiety, the fear, they usually only last for a while and I can always look at it like magic hour. (Or at least wish for a good view.)