Final threads of golden hour

Out in the open, on the plains, before the mountains, upon a shoreline, golden hour is all-encompassing. It proclaims a proof of divinity to the world, a reminder of the infinite love story between our sun star and the earth. No other time during the day does the sun’s glittering light caress the earth so gently.

In the forest, it is more complex and mysterious. The golden rays of the sun filter through the trees, creating a kaleidoscope of light and shadow. Everything seems suspended in time. A final breath before the blanket of darkness brings out the creatures of the night.

Now, here at the end of summer, under this rare blue supermoon, I realize that August has become much like this for me. When I was young, I saw August as golden hour out in the open; a big beautiful bright month before school began again. Today it is transformed into something a bit more intricate.

The beauty is still there, the enchantment, all of it. But interwoven with those golden threads are deeper shades of shadow, as if cast by the trees in the forest. There is an undercurrent of emotion that comes with August that can be hard to grasp.

Some days in late August at home are like this,
the air thin and eager like this,
with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar...

~ William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury, 1929

It is that desire to harness those final fading moments, knowing the sun has already dipped below the horizon.

It’s a sensation that permeates many aspects of life. I’ve caught myself at times, so overwhelmed with the beauty of a moment that I have a difficult time experiencing the experience. This doesn’t make the moment any less perfect, but because I am so aware of its perfection, I can’t fully be in it, knowing it will soon be over. What do I even do with this joy, this abundance, this sadness?

Late August is like this.

A golden hour already dripping through our fingers,

Making us question if we did enough to celebrate the summer.

But I learned something new about August too.

Yesterday my energy was low, and I wanted to do something that was equally as slow and heavy as I felt. So, I gathered up dried pine needles, some questionably dry firewood and stoked up a new fire in the pit by the house.

It took a moment to get going, but gradually it became a steady blaze under the dying summer sun. I sat cross-legged, chin resting heavy on my hand before it, not doing much besides using a stick to move logs about and stare into its luminosity. I felt as if my body was pulling me into the ground.

An hour went by and the logs decayed into a pile of hot white coals. It was perfect. I set my Dutch oven on the remnants and let it sit. I chopped carrots, green beans and tomatoes from the farmers market and seasoned chicken from my sister’s farm. I took each step deliberately and slowly, honoring my sluggish body and the process.

As I watched over the sizzling food, Evan turned on Joe FM, the best “oldies” station in the area. I found myself beginning to sway to the music. Then I included some more enthusiastically embarrassing moves, the embers cackling at my performance. The minutes passed and my body felt lighter with the diffusing aroma, rhythm of the music, and the natural unfolding of it all.

By the time the meal was done and we had eaten even the more charred vegetables, I felt downright invigorated. It had taken me three hours to make dinner. But it didn’t feel like I was making dinner. It felt like I was tapping into this ancient practice of tending, listening, honoring and nourishing.

For that moment in time, nothing was important besides nurturing the food and the fire, letting my body move at its own pace. I didn’t care if I was being present or wasting time. And because of that, I was present.

Late August is like this.

It gives us time to languish idly in its fading light,

A respite before September turns us back into adults.

The nostalgia of August reminds us of childhood years when nothing and everything mattered. But instead of mourning this loss of simplicity, it invites us to take on that same attitude for a shiny glimmering moment. Because that was the secret of childhood wasn’t it? Without a concept of time, nothing was wasted.

“Stop trying to live in the present”, August said to me that day by the fire. “Who cares if you let time pass without a thought? This is what I’m here for. This is what I’m trying to remind you.”

Finally the lesson was clear: we don’t have to take it all in, do all the things we didn’t get to do, or even “make the most of it” in these final moments of golden hour. Late August is about letting the minutes fade into hours, fade into days and reveling in the beauty of that freedom. Sometimes doing nothing at all except the next thing that feels good in your body is enough, and maybe even essential.

How do we tap into this childlike sense of timelessness? I believe it’s by doing these things that we don’t have to rush. Things that allow us to tap into a deeper cavern within our body, creativity, curiosity and just feel. Those are the moments when time bends and melds into something golden.

I get connect with the garden, the plants and its inhabitants much more intimately through making time for art.

Taking time to dally makes us notice things we wouldn’t, like this little frog in the leaves.

I believe it’s also important to meet ourselves where we are mentally, physically, emotionally. Pushing ourselves to do something that doesn’t match up with our current state is a recipe for disappointment. The most present connected experiences come when they are allowed to flow to and through us.

What would feel really good right now in this moment, in this season of your life? What would be the best, most delicious way you would “waste” time on this threshold?

Much love,

Val

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