I looked up from my book this evening as the light in the room grew dimmer. From the windows surrounding me, I saw the softest most alluring light emanating from the dwindling sinking sun. It was golden, spreading over all its illuminated images, draping them like gilt. I was riveted and compelled to pause and let that golden light fall over me, too.
As I crossed the room headed for the door, the clock told me it was 8:23 pm. I stepped outside onto the porch and was quickly engulfed in the splendor of the sky. Yet, it was the light that was so transfixing. It was lustrous and promising. It somehow was marked by peace and a future of prosperity. A golden opportunity.
Alas, it was fleeting as is with most illuminating events. I walked back into the house and checked the sunset guide for Latitude 27, it had the sun sinking at 8:27 pm, the clock agreed.
A friend stopped by a short while later boasting of a full rainbow over the causeway. I didn’t see it, but I believed it. Photographers call this the Golden Hour, it certainly was that!
