In Cannery Row Steinbeck describes the early morning light like this:
It is the hour of pearl—the interval between day and night when time stops and examines itself.
Usually during the “hour of pearl” I’m nursing a cup of coffee and thinking about the upcoming day. How did he see the morning light in this way when I do not?
Writing with beauty seems to require seeing the world with a little more magic and romance than others might find. This post is just about magic.
A sense of magic can be manufactured, it seems, but how?
I suggest chasing rainbows. Watching my kitten crane for a hot pink feather my husband floated above her made it dawn on me that the magic is always there. We just need to stop nursing the coffee, be still, and look for it.
The swelling hush of the cascading water let some of that transcending wonder seep back into my being. We relished this waterfall together and my husband pointed out to me a second rainbow. Busyness had not left me enough for me to take notice of the second one. I had stopped looking.
This second waterfall (Connestee) was new to both of us and has only recently been opened to the public. Walking beside the creek to the viewing area, that sense of wonder and adventure grew inside me.
What’s your method for creating magic?