September 18th, 2011

caillebotte_man at his window

Tripped the Light

This afternoon's light would have been the perfect light to preserve, if light could be preserved. It fell perfectly, caught the late summer green of trees and grass and bushes, the deep gray of asphalt and lighter grey of concrete, the walls and trim of houses, the gleaming mysteries windows make of inside and outside, the fluid mysteries passing cars make, the massive and the intricate, the still and the animated, and flashed it all everywhere.

It has all dissipated now, nothing remains but vague shapes and the silhouettes of trees and wires etched on darkening sky. It's the sky the light returned to, where the last of it is carrying the dimming scene away. All that perfect light, scattering, blending a world of scenes into a blur, thinning it, washing it all out until all detail is lost and there is nothing but a shimmer to fall on distant worlds, where there is no one to see.

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