The blossoming of the marigolds in the fields of Tel Yodfat

Tel Yodfat is surrounded by a sea of ​​rocks

On the eve of the holiday, in the moments when the sun slips behind the mountains and the light changes its face from a multitude of gold and deep orange, a view rises from the distance that his magical senses grasp at once: Tel Yodfat, enveloped in a sea of ​​beautiful rocks, their white pillars standing upright against the sky, as if pointing to that burning heaven.

Last ray of light

I walked along the path to the mound, as the surrounding area awakened to quiet movement, the sound of a gentle breeze wandering between the rows of vegetation, echoing the sounds of a brooding bird, and ahead the fields of marigolds spread proudly. Each column of blossoms emerged from the earth: a thin stem, an open white inflorescence, a last ray of light reflecting on the flower's leaves. The whiteness was woven into the gold of the sunset, giving the flowers a cool glow that takes on life in a moment before night falls on them.

The horizon lights up in a golden-orange display

I reached the slope of the hill, the road winding between terrace stones, depleted moles, bushes and tree roots. Slowly, darkness creeps in, and the horizon lights up in a golden-orange display: the sun converges on the mountain line, paints the clouds a deep purple-orange, absorbs the entire space with a warm light that caresses the last handful of day.
There's a real sense of paradise in the air, a few hours before the holiday season begins.

The stonecutters stand as if committed to a folk ritual.

And above all this, the stone pillars stand as if committed to a folk ritual. They do not surrender to the sunset, but rather rise, raising their heads to the disappearing light. The spectators position themselves at the edges of the field, observing, silent, because there are no words to characterize this peace and beauty. In such a moment, the air is thin, the senses of time slow down, and the heart opens.