Dawn broke fast the colour of grapefruit that my grandfather ate. A white needle forges through dense washed out blue, drifts twists and curls back to vapour. For a second I heard a grassy corner swelling with spring birds singing, a refracting inversion.
Great lakes of the sky chase the globe southeastward dragging in their wake the sounds of grey, a leaky tent to dampen the radiance of a Turner sky. These washed out battleships glow at their evaporating edges then submerge to leave 2 flapping egrets silhouetted in lack of light.
The magnifying emotions of light. It passes unnoticed.Under this foggy canvas great washes of feeling are illuminated. Cold ink stained horizons make blue feel like glacier ice. Then from the outside, intense radiation bathes the whole visible world in warmth. With this concealing medium, space becomes light, light becomes space.
Sound helps to see, to extend senses beyond. In the open cathedral of the beech forest, the sensations of rain fill the canopy and with them space within an enormous volume, out of body.
The spider’s web is filled with fog. Mapped with jewels of dew. The crystal piste illuminated by a forest of stars. A mountain range of light, an atmosphere caught in a pocket of silk.