The air this morning carried an old coolness, and it brought me back to the moment I was touched by the blue hour, indelibly now, for the first time. I was a young kid and my folks had woken us up early to be taken over to a babysitter’s for the weekend. I was ready early and stepped outside and down the porch steps, into the front of the circle drive, to the edge of the great juniper bush around which it circled. It was there that we would find vibrant garden spiders in their webs, and old John cat had chosen to die beneath the sheltering boughs of this ancient juniper. In that moment, summer before sunrise, all was cast blue and the air felt cool with a promise of heat on its tail. The blue was deep in the shadows and gentle on the tops of the conifer fronds. It colored the purling of the agricultural drainage ditch that edged our property, and muted the cooing of morning doves. The blue entered my eyes and coated them. For a moment the air was still, the Earth seemed not to turn. This was the blue hour.
The only way to access this is by waking up at 4 or 5 in the morning, free of expectations, and being willing to be taken by surprise.