The Golden Days
It's the golden hour.
The morning sun is rising opposite the lavender peaks in the distance. Ripe as an August peach, its honey light drips into the room and drenches everything in gold.
For only a moment.
They say it's an hour, but there is only a moment of this dazzling light that is more vibrant than anything I've seen all my life.
This past year has been like the sunrise. Warm and soft and full of light. Illumined by a quality of magic that I believed only existed in fairytales.
But, every day was fleeting. As swift and rapid as the wide and wavering sea. I wish that I could twist a metallic cap onto a mason jar and store these days like fruit preserves. I cherish them deeply. I mourn their passing.
I am scared of the future. But, I think that we are all scared. And I think that we know this upon waking to the sunrise each day. I think that's why we love those golden hours.
For a moment, all of the fear washes away as we're mesmerized by something far greater than ourselves.