Back from a long drive, I take to the road. Not as a motorist but a pedestrian. I’m not often walking during the “golden hour,” when the sun slants low and bathes the landscape in soft light, but I was yesterday, and I reveled in it.

I first learned of the golden hour traveling with photographers. While writers can ply their trade at any hour (observing, interviewing, soaking up the local color), photographers prefer mornings and evenings to snap their shots. I see why. The world looks better then, and so do the photographs.

I didn’t intend to stroll during the golden hour yesterday; that was just the time available. But once I was walking through it I realized my good fortune. Here was beauty to soothe the nerves and still the mind. 

(The golden hour in Khulna, Bangladesh.)