Introvert's Hour

There should be a law! A law against driving fast during introvert's hour. Punishable with death. Well, maybe not that last part.

Some people refer to it simply as evening. Others call it twilight, or dusk, or even "the dim." One song I know calls it sunset hour. But I've named it Introvert's Hour.

Some days, quite a few actually, just whistle past. A flash, a gust of wind, and then bye bye.  And I get tired of trying to keep up. (No I'm not a senior - yet ;) I wish people and things and places would slow down to a half reasonable pace for once. But other people thrive on seemingly break-necked-ness, so I suspect I'm out of luck. 

In the midst of this hypersonic hubble double bubble appears introvert's hour. The rushing and jostling slows. The pounding and screeching softens. The spinning stops. My highlight is the day's lowlight.

Each one is a masterpiece. Each one is original. Miss one and you've missed it forever. Colourful is an understatement. Bold streaks; tiny blushes; intricate details. No harsh, glaring colours of midday, but soft colours, pastel colours, and married colours. They dance on the clouds, float through the very air you breath, rest in the shadows, and radiate out, out, out - 'til they die the east. Mind you, this is only the backdrop.

Enter the sanctuary of splendor. Silent, except for the earth's ethereal lullaby. Still, except for a slow slide to the east. Here you are free. Free from the interruptions of companions. Free to be alone. To be    s   l   o   w   . To be quiet. To ponder deeply. To recount sadness. To clutch goodness for fear it won't return. To revel in cool winds and warm clothes. To listen to the beating of your heart. To weave dreams into reality. To whisper with Him who loves you. To marvel at mercy. To drowse. To savour the extravagance of life. To delight in small pleasures. To do things, just for old times sake. To cackle over particularly corny jokes. To do sweet nothing - simply because you can. And, of course to drive slowly.

And then it's gone. A vehicle whizzes by, far too rapidly. Natural light fades. Fake light flares. The world throttles up.

Introvert's Hour - cause it's typical introversion; typical introverted recharging. For the through-and-through's, for the half-and-half's, for the mostly-extroverted-with-a-wee-corner-of-introversion. Give it your own name. Call it what you will. But if it happens while I'm driving, just smile as I putter past.