The Magic Hour

Today I was out in the garden before dawn and I watched the crescent moon fade slowly into daylight as carpets of clouds moved very fast across the sky.

Slowly the birds and the moths started to emerge from their nightly hideouts, eager to catch an early meal before the morning rush.

The light was strange in a way I can’t describe, a suffused golden lavender glow that faded to gray when the clouds overcast the sun. I’m starting to understand why this time of day is called the magic hour, but it’s not just the light, there is also a great stillness in the air that envelops you that sharpens your senses and allows you to catch the lightest sound or scent. Life doesn’t struggle before dawn, it doesn’t fight, it doesn’t hurt, it is at peace. You can almost taste time.

It looks like nature is ready to be reborn, I know that doesn’t make any sense, we’re waiting for winter, but I can’t find any signs of it in the humid breeze that feels too warm against my skin, almost tropical, so weird for the beginning of January, so late.