Golden Hour

Words by Katie Marchetti | Photos by Dylan Shea Photography

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Sunset dares people not to stare, as it sets the sky on fire with each new brilliant flare. A myriad of colors, painted across the sky, a show-stopper, who never forgets to peek around the curtains as they close, for one last wink at the audience below.

But the Golden Hour has always meant more to me. It steals in softly, with no desire to interrupt your day. You rarely note its arrival, barefoot and still, until everything it touches turns beautiful in a slow, steady bloom. It finds the brittle and broken, and gives them an incandescent glow, while the worn and weathered are baptized by a heavenly gold. The Golden Hour rotates the world into a better light, so that relics are remembered as enchanting, for sixty minutes if not more, before the day gives way to night.