No matter what season, when the sun begins to settle into dusk, my surroundings beg for my attention. It's that golden time of day, when everything in the path of early evening light glows in sweet splendor. Something about it feels magical and serene.
God seems to create this time of day as a special blessing. Every object in the filtered sunlight softens. The last rays of sunshine glitter through the trees like multi-faceted jewels. It's reassurance that the day has been a gilt-edged gift. If I've bumped against some sharp corners throughout the day, at dusk I see gentleness. If I've had the joy of day already rich in the pleasures of love and connection, at dusk I rest in the comfort of this treasure.
As twilight gives way to night shadows, a crescent moon forms in the sky on this particular evening. My friend says she wants to climb into it and rock herself to sleep amidst the stars. I, on the other hand, hear the voice of The Glass Menagerie's Amanda, who lures her eccentric daughter Laura onto the fire escape of their St. Louis tenement and tells her to make a wish on the "little silver slipper of a moon."
I have yet to make my wish for tonight. Anything I may want already has been granted in dusk's idyllic moments, and dusk will come again.
