There’s that time that photographers call the magic hour, when the sunlight goes amber and sideways and everything asserts its own common sense. And then there’s dusk, when the streetlamps try—and fail—to hold onto that amber and the stars check in for duty. But in between, there’s that moment that Magritte painted and Stevens called a rabbit-light, where both the sun and streetlamps are defined by where they are not: What I like about both those artists is that they didn’t use that moment as a metaphor for transition or being caught in between (don’t use the “T” word now, it’s lost to us for a while) but instead as the point of balance.

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