I fell in love with our house the minute we stepped foot in it for a tour because of how bright all of the rooms were – especially the living room.
Our last home, a little bungalow in West Central, was adorable and there are days I miss it, but it was so dark. The windows were tiny and often high up, and the little house was situated between two giant houses, causing all sorts of shadows, all hours of the day.
I’m so grateful to be able to watch the light slowly move from room to room in this home, dancing along the walls and floors – a crisp, bright, white light in the morning hours, turning into a rich, golden glow in the evenings. That last hour of daylight, magic hour (or golden hour), has always been my absolute favorite!
The sun sets in front of our home each day, casting it’s beautiful glow across our porch and flooding our living room. It’s always a bit of a magical experience, and one that we’re, sadly, rarely home to witness – especially together.
Last night, we somehow managed to both be home during this “magic hour” and though it was the most uneventful, standard kind of weekday evening, it turned out to be quite possibly one of my favorite nights of the year so far.
Jeremy made the best tomato and basil lentil pasta while we talked about our days. We left the back door open and let the sounds of birds and trains and giggling children and ice cream trucks flow through our home.
After dinner, J picked up his guitar and played for Rosie and I. We sang Taylor Swift and Iron & Wine and Nirvana tunes, changing up the lyrics every now and then to make them our own. We sipped on the most amazing blueberry stout (you guys, it tasted like blueberry muffins!) My mom was sending silly text messages that had us both laughing.
Rosie, like she so often does, stood at the front door for a long while, waiting for visitors to come and love on her and play. I took some time to walk through our main level, inspecting some of the hard work we’ve put into it over the past few weeks (like painting all of our interior doors black!) and appreciating the progress. It’s started coming together so fast lately!
All too soon, the moon chased the sun from the sky and nighttime fell. And magic hour was gone. Just like that. I later (finally) filed my taxes and for the first time ever, OWED money. Whomp whomp.
It’s okay, though, because when I think back on last night, it will forever be a favorite. I’ll remember the sounds and smells and conversations and feelings and that magical light that only appears for just a tiny part of the day. I’ll think about how I want to welcome every single spring in, just like this, and how much more positive and powerful and meaningful “magic hour” is than stressing about the IRS and the struggles that come with being an adult.
Live for the magic hour, friends.