My eyes are fixed to effects of light.
They way the fading sun makes the white fluff of a dandelion seem silver like it is a projection from another world.
Wheat becomes thin like thread, patterns like so many kaleidoscopes form and dust rises like the breath of a dream.
Dusk is the immortal time of day where it seems that all things are in concert and that light – pale and golden – shines not
on everything but
so you can see the bones of all things.