Each day, Summer and I could be counted on to announce the arrival of the Golden Hour. We would gush over the beauty of the light and subsequently prance around shouting, “It’s the Golden Hour!” just in case anyone couldn’t tell the time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Since we were exploring Portugal’s west coast, the sun set over the water and sent cascading shades of gold and blue reflecting off the waves as they rolled in. The already quiet beach began to empty as the umbrellas got folded up one by one. Each car pulled away and the only people left were little surfers dotting the water. Instead of following suit and packing up our bags, we ran and splashed through the waves, the cliffs growing red behind us in the last of the day’s light. I will never get too old to run from waves.