Magic Hour

It was in the movie Reign Of Fire, where I first heard twilight time, the moment between the setting of the sun and the fall of full night, called the magic hour. I think of it that way always, now, but not because of the adverse effect it has on dragons' keen vision, since I've never seen a dragon. Well, not a traditional dragon. But that's another story.
Twilight is that magical time when anything seems possible. The world at that moment appears to be changing, pulling a werewolf transformation, if you will. After all, the night holds an air of danger that the bright light of day does not. But ah, that moment in between. It's as if time stands still, and it feels like something beyond the usual humdrum reality surrounding us, is about to step through. I love that time of day.
I remember being in a park in Burlington, Vermont, a good number of years ago, back when I was in college. It was a beautiful clear summers day. This park had an old tower made of bricks at one end. It dated back a good hundred years or so, and was approximately three stories high. When the sun set, I was standing on the top, and I remember seeing a Russian wolfhound and a tall, thin, and very strange looking man seemingly appear out of thin air, about two hundred feet out from the tower on the lawn below. First, there was just a shimmer in the air, and then as if slipping through from another place, Presto! There they were.
I will never forget that sight. It struck a chord deep within me that ran shivers up and down my body.
Magic hour. Don't go looking if you don't want to see.