Forget about midnight. Twilight is the true witching hour if by witching one means bewitching.
Neither day nor night, both day and night, twilight is that magical time when refracted sunlight
filters through the forest canopy to bathe tree limbs in an ethereal ribbon of rose-gold. The sun
has dipped, not disappeared, and the moon lingers low on the horizon.
I want to capture this moment and hold it in a jar like we did as kids with our lightning bugs. I
want to live forever in this moment of stillness and wonder and magic when even the forest
seems to be holding its breath. Knowing all too well that, when trapped, lightning bugs lose
their magic. We always let them go in the end—the lightning bugs. Twilight disappears of its
own accord.