Jan. 18th, 2005 09:24 am
Fluffy pink clouds!
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muckefuckGorgeous sunset last night--as long as you were looking in the wrong direction. The western sky was nothing special, but the ruddy light of dusk turned the cumulus clouds over the Lake rose-coloured with purplish shadows. Even the thick clouds of steam from nearby smokestacks were painted pink. The sky just above the horizon was pale golden. It was like a background out of Persian miniature in the Chinese style of the old masters of Herat.
This morning, there was a thick mist over the water which the red sun turned luminous pink. I wanted to stand and watch it, but it was hard enough to force myself out of the covers into the chilly room. You know how I can see when it's really, really cold outside? It took me a while to realise this myself. For the longest time, I thought it was the startling clarity of the atmosphere when it's been drained of almost all moisture, but that can occur even on a crisp autumn day.
It's the steam plumes. When it's really frigid, they grow so huge and thick that their shadows are as large and dark as those of altocumulus clouds. Since I'm a committed urbanite, I'm almost always in view of a steam plant somewhere. On warm days, they're not even noticeable. But the colder it grows, the more they resemble the smoke-belching factories of a Soviet Realist mural. Subconsciously, I've been registering their presence for years as a signal that I could expect a brief walk outside to freeze my nose hairs and make my ears ache like they'd been ripped off and reattached as they thawed.
This morning, there was a thick mist over the water which the red sun turned luminous pink. I wanted to stand and watch it, but it was hard enough to force myself out of the covers into the chilly room. You know how I can see when it's really, really cold outside? It took me a while to realise this myself. For the longest time, I thought it was the startling clarity of the atmosphere when it's been drained of almost all moisture, but that can occur even on a crisp autumn day.
It's the steam plumes. When it's really frigid, they grow so huge and thick that their shadows are as large and dark as those of altocumulus clouds. Since I'm a committed urbanite, I'm almost always in view of a steam plant somewhere. On warm days, they're not even noticeable. But the colder it grows, the more they resemble the smoke-belching factories of a Soviet Realist mural. Subconsciously, I've been registering their presence for years as a signal that I could expect a brief walk outside to freeze my nose hairs and make my ears ache like they'd been ripped off and reattached as they thawed.
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Not if you were wearing Ear Pops!