Poetry On Odyssey: Golden Hour

He makes me feel like golden hour. You know, the hour before sunset? The moment when everything light touches has a warm, radiant yellow sheen to it. Trees stand slightly taller; each leaf holds itself up with golden confidence. It's as if at that moment, nature knows: moments, even seconds, like this are rare and sparse; it will do anything to spend more time taking in the truest forms of joy, peace, love, and security. The sun's golden rays look into each and every soul in nature, asking them if they are okay. Nature's souls, of course, reply "yes" in unison without taking time to think about it. Because even when the hour passes, when the light leaves, each soul takes refuge in the lingering sensation that light leaves within it: home.

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