I’ve always believed that if our days have a magic moment, it’s while they are awash with a waterfall of late-afternoon sunshine.
When the sun is low, but still bright. When shadows play, but haven’t yet drawn into their long sunset shapes.
Something about that light makes anything possible. There is a whole universe of possibilities in the drizzle of sunlight over my floorboards. Every neighborhood and city street is at its peak, with the dazzling flair of the sun’s Midas touch. Photographers, too, know this hour and use its magic to capture our smiling faces, dappled out of their harsh lines and worry and into the softened essence of our selves.
When we were looking for a house in Kansas City, this was what I needed. Some place that had pools of afternoon light slanting across the interior.
I don’t know what it is about the sunlight that brings me such joy, but it does.
It’s the golden hour, and I treasure it.
