Golden Hour.

It was the night before the visitation, Monday, August 30. Mom had been gone since Friday. As Amanda and I walked down Patterson to Central Market, it was just turning dusk, the golden hour. An air of peace settled over the street. A few leaves stirred, but it was suddenly calm. No cars graced the street, nor people. The leaves of the trees were casting shadows on the streets. We looked up Argyle from Patterson, up the steep hill and saw the ember ends of the day glow on the high horizon, shedding its golden light upon us. Nature reflected something great that evening. We felt that Mom was at peace. That she was giving us a sign that we should remain calm. Everything was going to be alright. She was truly at peace, and we should be too, in the knowledge that she lived on and triumphed over death, indeed. We walked further, past the Cathedral House past an open field. It was an open expanse, virgin landed that escaped the developer’s hand because it lay on a flood plain. Golden light illuminated the grass and brush. We saw a steeple from Incarnate Word in the distance and felt like we could have been in field in the English Countryside in Somerset county.