L’heure de soleil

There was a rush of wind as the sun spilled into my window. I could see the bright and blinding rays of the afternoon sun as it slowly moved across the sky. This was my favorite time of day.

My grandmother called it the “L’heure de soleil”. She would tell me tales of how our world would meet the spirit world during this hour. For just a moment, our worlds would collide and wonderful things could happen. She would tell me of how the sky birds were the only ones who could travel between the two worlds. This was why my people said these birds were harbingers of sacred events.

I rested my hands on the window as I let the sun warm my face. A deep breath in. During this hour, the world seemed to stand still. Even the ripples of the waves stilled to create a glossy reflection. In the “sunny hour”, I could smell the earth. Rich, deep aging earth along with ancient pines and sweet grasses. The wind blew past me and I breathed in again. The warmth from the sun lifted every lovely forest scent and brought it to me as if it were a gift.

I loved this moment in the day. I loved the rest and felt my soul stir within me. My eyes closed and I took in the quiet sounds of the world around me. I even heard the ice creak in the distance. The melody of the simplicity of nature was lovely. My heart was at peace. I again looked out over the view. The sun slipped past the glacier pass and the warmth left my face. I agreed with my grandmother, this hour of the sun was truly a magical moment. Something to be cherished and revered.