After visiting friends in Hayama, my wife and I felt that the traffic to get home on that long weekend would be too bothersome to deal with and so decided to take the scenic route to the highway by meandering along the coastline. After all, living in the heart of the Tokyo suburbs, we had to savor this rare day we spent at the beautiful Zushi/Kamakura coast. It was a little after 5:30pm. The sun had not yet begun to set, but was making its way toward the horizon. Ironically, we came upon unexpected traffic going into and out of central Kamakura. “Oh well,” we thought and just enjoyed the leisurely pace as we snaked around sea cliffs and down coastal straightaways, breathing in the sea air passing through our open windows. The sky, once azure blue, was beginning to turn a slight magenta. Minutes passed. Sandy beaches and quaint coastal shacks and buildings passed. Then, as we crested a semi-steep slope passing between two crags and onto the Shichiri-Gahama stretch of roadway, we came upon a wondrous site. Mt. Fuji standing ever so dominant against the horizon, an auburn pyramid against the fiery orange of the sky, the burning orb of the sun arcing its way toward Japan’s tallest peak. Everything around us glowed with the warm light of dusk and a winding river of sunlight glittering against windshields and car roofs and crimson brake lights stretched ahead of us. By the time we neared the entrance to Enoshima, the sun was almost behind Mt. Fuji. The orange glow of what seemed like just a minutes prior, now deepened to violet silhouettes. Headlights now lit the way home. Imagine if we hadn’t taken this drive? “Magic Hour” they call it in Hollywood. It certainly seemed that way.