It was THAT hour… that hour when the daylight bent low and
stretched through the windows of the old farmhouse. It was those few, drawn-out
moments when white light tuned golden and the evening was on its heels. I often
imaged castles of old, and I envisioned the very same long and sweet sixty
minutes when the day shifted to night. I quite thought Dukes and grand ladies
would stare at the falling shadows upon castle walls and attempt to take in
THAT hour so unhurriedly.
Eleven hours on the back half of the property with the sun browning the backs of my hands and turning my hazel eyes blue caused me to wide-eye the dimming light of the kitchen with its cinnamon smell... THAT hour when the inside was still and warm from the dying sun but the yard and shade from the oak tree was cooled by an afternoon breeze.
It was THAT hour, but that hour was only in my mind.
“…Why do you whisper, green grass? Why tell the trees what ain't so?”
Eleven hours on the back half of the property with the sun browning the backs of my hands and turning my hazel eyes blue caused me to wide-eye the dimming light of the kitchen with its cinnamon smell... THAT hour when the inside was still and warm from the dying sun but the yard and shade from the oak tree was cooled by an afternoon breeze.
It was THAT hour, but that hour was only in my mind.
“…Why do you whisper, green grass? Why tell the trees what ain't so?”
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