A glazed frosty sun rose that morning from behind a silhouette of deep green trees, in a sky the color of cellophane blue. It rose swiftly above the horizon, irregular and smoky, moonlike in still waters. Weightless it was, no light, no heat, just the white, a spare dangling vortex.
No lights in the houses, the houses, sharp, boxy and angular. A brilliant red flame breathing through the windows would have made another dimension, but none there. Transparent windows, transparent to gentle, mystic darkness. The doors hidden as though in the shadow beneath the tired eye that was the sun.
Not even the soft lapping of the unreflecting waters. Peace eternal, dreary, dusty.
It is truly lovely...Van Gogh couldn't have described it better himself. :)
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