(no subject)

[sanura]

Sitting on the steps at the end of Virgins' Walk this morning, waiting for the bus, could not have been less mundane. It's usually not fully light at 7:30 anyway, but the clouds from last night's rain had the sky in an unfriendly veiled dusk rather than dawn, and the light that managed to escape from the opaque wool up there was a shade of gray-blue twilight that would have been depressing if it weren't magic. The foil to this cold heaven was in the black of the oaks silhouetted against it, and the organically-spaced street lamps that could have been fairy globes to my nearsighted eyes. The oaks, backlit by the austere fall of grey light, glowed from underneath with yellow-orange-pink artificiality, but the world beneath them was still drenched with both sides of the spectrum. The way the road turned the corner, the clots of glowing globes unevenly spaced enough to look random, mimicking the distribution of dew on the grass or stars in the sky, was a world that only exists in fantasy and rain. The fantasy of the combination merged with my state of mind at the time, complete amazement that music is so true and life is so good and love is so real, no matter how foreign the sky and the lights look separately.