10.25

The fog has long since burned away; water feeling the sun's furnace eight minutes late. Anyone would say that the sky is clear, but to my eyes there hangs a gauze invisible. Loosely draped across the air, it thickens and cozens yet more as light pools in my valley. Whose choice: this element of air? The earthly tones of the land all fade to gold as the immaterial weighs ever more upon them, choking sight, choking noise, choking all.