Saturday, December 03, 2005


It's morning, and the sun not up yet. Most of the sky is the shade of a spectacular bruise: shadows ranging from blue-grey to near-black. Near the horizon the clouds must break, because the clouds there are marked in the sun's reflected glory, gilded red and gold and orange and pink - even a hint of a brush of purple at the edges, a paler shade. The air is chill, breath forming clouds on it, but the horizon is all fire, warming the eyes even as the body shivers.