A peachy light at dusk. Pink almost. It's as if the Cat in the Hat had come back once again on a snowless day and atomized his legendary bathtub ring into the atmosphere.
Sitting at the edge of the Farmington River, darkness comes on gradually like sleep to a restless body. The soft evening air soothes, liberates the mind to wander like a dog off leash. I watch the moon working its way in silvery fragments through the tangle of tree branches on the opposite shore until at last it rises like a balloon over the dark horizon of lumpy, leafy crowns. It floats in a gauze of thin, wispy clouds, some that stripe its face like contrails.
The river which had been dark and disappearing now gleams. As the moon rises this night grows brighter. Shadows that had evaporated without illumination have returned. But the moon seems to have brought more than just light. There's a glow that adheres to surfaces like a soft, fuzzy, sticky dust. The dullest objects glory in it.
The moon reflects on and from the water. It seems there are two moons. One is suspended above and another just below the liquid surface. The river seems to magnify the light like a lens.