Ave, Lorianne!

One of the reasons why I read Hoarded Ordinaries-- for writing like this:

I've learned to drop whatever I'm doing and go walking whenever I see a hint of pewter light shining from the western horizon, for clouds move quickly and the sun sets suddenly. If you're in the middle of a flat landscape--like, say, at the municipal airport--when the setting sun is doing magic tricks under the edge of cloud-capped skies, you'll witness the most miraculous of phenomena: the earth itself aglow, like God's in the thing. It's a brief flash in the proverbial pan, that instant when the clouded sky is dark and the earth itself-- you yourself-- seem luminous, glinting gray beams that are best viewed askance, like ghosts. In an instant, the illusion is there, then gone, tree leaves no longer tricked in silver, the sky merely overcast, gloomy. But the ringing in your soul remains after that wondrous moment, the blood pumping in your walking legs as your heart remembers what it meant to be alive at the middle of the gleaming gray earth, aglow.

Visit that post and take a look at the photos accompanying it.


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