on vision
It’s not just that by day all vision occurs in hues of blue – it’s that all figures must be silhouetted, as well, backlit by some far away something that lies beyond the rippling roof, or maybe just along it. Perhaps they resemble eclipsed suns, darkened but for a streaming white outline; or perhaps they seem haloed and angelic as they wriggle and shine along. Or does all that refracted and reflected light, zigzagging across the surface and down through the depths, bathe bodies in some almost grayscale glow, as if the sand were a dulled mirror? Instinct favors the bodies as shadows darting, navy, overhead and dappling the ground below like leaves would on a wind-trembling tree. From the floor, the sky seems much less static, much more like something that is constantly moving and exploding. From the floor, it looks like it exists just on the surface, like if you floated upwards gently enough you could let some sky undulate against your back and feel it push you wherever at whatever speed, fold yourself up in that odd dancing light.
