The colors of magic hour were consuming my thoughts. It's that special time of day when it's no longer day and not quite night, but almost right in between time itself. Some people call it dusk, others call itnightfall. But I call it magic hour, because even within that time frame, the light bends into specific colors that even the cosmetic industry cannot categorize. It's not hues or shades, nor is it pastels or primaries. I like to believe that it's energy, the last remaining pieces of whirling light and force before the starkness and reality of darkness overwhelm.

"Greg!" Said the voice.

I turned from the window and stared back at Fran, sitting at the dining table, our art show announcements laid in front of us. She held up two pictures of her designs.

"Which one works better?"

"That one."

She looked at it, clearly disappointed. "Really? Why?"

"It's a nicer design of clothing. It's unique."

"But it's also not as commercial. I say go with this." She selected the other picture, putting it in front of us.

I rose and crossed to the window, staring at the changing evening sky, hearing Fran talking behind me.

"You all right?" Asked Fran.

"Oh, sure." I responded. "How would you describe the feeling we have at the end of the day?"

I could tell she wasn't into it, but she obliged my request. "Lonliness."

"I think we feel alone, but not lonely."

She remained silent, her fingers beginning to tap the desk behind me.

"Greg, why don't-"

"Which is why we enjoy sharing sunsets with someone else. That way we don't feel so alone."

I could tell I was pissing her off. But when I sometimes get into a mood like this, I just honor it.

"You're not listening to me Greg. We all feel things, we all know what it means to be an artist."

"Fran, relax. It's the best part of the day."

"For you. Best part of the day for you. Everything is always about you."

I simply nodded in agreement, not wanting to argue, taking her pictures and putting them in the envelope for the printer.