Revisiting page 20 of Up the Mtn

Up the Mtn #104

To me this poem speaks of that pre golden hour that photographers speak of. That hour just before sunset, that golden hour for landscape photographers. 

Only in a Northwest forest strewn with ferns upon the forest floor and moss on the old growth boughs, all at the western edge of the Cascade Mountain Range. My Golden Hour, begins just prior to sunset and ends as the ground fog of the Willamette or Rogue Valleys dissipate.

This, My Northwestern Golden Hour flows through the trunks and boughs of an old growth forest. This golden sunlight often flows brightly stripped and diffused by ground fog or clouds slumbering in the forests. This diffused light is stripped of it's golden hue and rendered a blown out, bright white for a time. This bright white light can permeate a forest like a natural flood light. The bright white darkens the shadows, and can even render some ferns transparent, if only for a moment. Before the fog and clouds dissipate and a golden hue returns to the sunbeams of My Northwest Sunrise.