The light coming up in the southeast sometime approaching 4:00 AM, hesitant and blue, illuminating the harborward edge of the ripples in the black wakes of each duck and merganser silently a-paddle on the Tjörn. A quarter moon still out, shining like a wet quartz pebble on a black beach, Mars (like red jasper) surprisingly close and bright. Here and there clouds like tufts of wool caught on the wire fence between the pastures of day and night. Here and another place, high, high up, short flickers of green on the move -- loftskeyti from the Great Dark: ég bið að heilsa, ég bið að heilsa.
And then the sun sweeps up and I'm off.
Gerast áskrifandi að:
Birta ummæli (Atom)
Engin ummæli:
Skrifa ummæli