Light, delicate brushstrokes of silvery pearl, drifting like feathers on the breeze across the topaz morning sky, while the brief contrail of a high flying jet draws an arrow of pure silver straight to the white golden glow of the new morning sun, just showing over the far horizon... The treeline is thrown into sharp black inky silhouette that would have a japanese master reaching for his pen and paper, while the sky grows a deeper blue with every passing minute, and the feathery brushstrokes glide, silent shapeshifters that subtly change, flow and morph their way towards the west, borne on the chilly morning airstream high above, while here below, the soft sigh of the same cold morning breeze sends shivers through the still dark leaves, and the skylight below is lightly fogged, as if a passing autumnal air sprite had paused to breathe across the glass... For mornings like this, such cold beginnings are a small price to pay while waiting for old sol to beam his radiant warmth into the air - and he will, he will... Enjoy your day, folks! :¬}
Posted on: Thu, 25 Sep 2014 06:48:26 +0000
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