I just came inside from the backyard. My feet are slightly damp and chilled. My spirit is light, buoyant. I’ve been enjoying my hour. Each day has 24, but there is only one that I call my own. The French call it l'heure bleue. The blue hour. This particular time between daylight and darkness that is my favorite hour of every day. You probably know it as twilight. In Scotland it is called the gloaming. Wonderful words for a magical time.
I think my love affair with this hour began in some distant childhood summer. This is the hour when the scent of summer flowers are strongest. This is the hour when children play hide and seek and hope their parents wait to call them inside long enough for them to play just one more game. This is the hour when lightning bugs begin rising up from the grass like fairies on their way to a dance.
The light during this hour is always romantic and lovely, like this song, written just for this lovely, melancholy blue hour.
I once read a story about a woman whose only perfume was l’heure bleue by Guerlain. The narrator was a man who had loved her nearly 40 years before. As he sat beside his wife in a darkened theater, he caught that particular scent and his mind traveled back to Nathalié , his first love. He was not a man who usually noticed perfume, but he always remembered Nathalié’s. Maybe because it was the only scent she wore. Maybe because it had the dusky scent of candies and almond cake bought in an old world apothecary. Maybe he remembered that scent because it belonged to his first love. First loves remembered, a perfect contemplation for the blue hour.
I’ve spent my blue hour watching fireflies and a full moon rising. It is June. There are fireflies. There are memories. There is a hammock, a full moon, and friends with whom I can share all this bounty. All is right with my world. Sweet dreams to you, my friends.
The first photo above came from this blog. The second photo came from an interesting article here. Please listen to this song, perfect for the blue hour.