favorite time of day

These last few days, my emotional rollercoaster has been cruising on a pretty steady decline.  My mom was hit hard with cyclophosphamide, and its been difficult to be away from her during this latest round of chemotherapy.  Even so, the magic finds little cracks to shine through in the the darkness.

Last night, I went to check on the chickens and empty out the compost bucket.  The sun was setting behind beefy clouds, and sudenly the dim, radiant glow of everything took my breath away.  Even a scratched up chicken yard, at that magic moment at dusk, looks positively ethereal. Its the lovely few minutes where the sun seeminly decides to step aside, and everything shines as if illuminated by an internal light.

I had a flashback to April, 1998.  I was seventeen years old, hiking in the woods in Northern Iowa.  If you’ve ever been there, you know the woods aren’t the deep and ancient sort, but rather gentle and friendly, with rolling hills, frequent meadows, and delicate tree branches criss-crossing above your head. The sun sunk back to the horizon, and suddenly, everything around me was glowing. 

“This is it!” I squealed to my companions.  “My favorite time of day!”

You know what? It still is.

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