That magical time just at twilight.
When the sun just dips below the horizon but before the night claims his prize. A time of day, in the summer, I mostly enjoy. The greens in lawns and tree canopies seem to glow neon light hard to describe. The browns darker and richer. And orange sunsets. A multitude of orange hues sometimes bleeding out to a pale salmon pink in one corner of a pale blue sky.
I noticed all this as I sat behind the wheel of the ’66 SS 396 we were still cruising in. We were moving over the quiet suburban streets of a neighborhood called Rosehill. A residential section of town that was comfortable but not ostentatious. Single-floor ranch homes splayed out across wide green yards meandered around the curving street on both sides of us. Children played in the yards. Dogs, c
