October 17, 2005 @ 8:36 PM
Sitting in Golden Light
I’m sitting in my nearly empty living room, which is decorated by pools of light from dimmed quartz-halogen bulbs. The light reflected form the light brown tiles fills the room with a golden haze and I am listening to the sad blue music of twilight jazz, yearning, longing, waiting music. And I have slipped into…
L’Heure Bleu
A haunting phrase. L’Heure Bleu, the blue hour before darkness and after the day’s light, when city streets and urban parks are suffused with a blue-gray light. It is a time that hangs between disappointed pasts and some kind of hopeful future. It has always been, for me, unutterably sad.
L’Heure Bleu is a state of mind into which I fall, an emotional "September Song" of yearning for past loves and for present loves forever denied me.
I remember the passionate expectation with which I awaited a loved one, the touch of her lips, the warmth of her body as we fell into an eternal moment.
L’Heure Bleu
