I Love the Golden Hour
It is just after 8:00 pm and the sun has emerged from behind the clouds. The fresh green of spring is bathed in the last golden rays of the day and the garden is glowing. The chokecherries are smothered in blossom, I love their scent. And I love to watch the changing light on the mountain that rises above the trees in the middle distance.
Hundreds of birds are coming home to bed down in the brambles and trees, just as they do every evening. They fill the late evening air with their song and chatter — jostling, as always, for position. There are robins bouncing across the lawn and a little pair of would-be bird parents who have taken to building a nest in one of our bird boxes perch on top of it.
The sun has dipped below the horizon and the light is softer and muted, but still warm and golden. The shadows on the east side of the mountain darken and flow around to the southern face. I notice the gentle movement of patchy clouds gently floating northeast and a blue heron enters the scene flying due east toward the hills. I have seen it flying west toward the river in the mornings. I wonder where they sleep?
