9 February 2011 (wednesday morning)
Beautiful clear morning today, and cold. I stood in the gap between the treeshadow and waited for a bus that didn’t come, warming my face in the rare golden light and clenching my raw red hands against my hips.
The water sparkled blue and choppy despite the lack of wind, and the far shore of the lake formed the first row of a terrace of backdrops, treeline after treeline and ridges upon foothill ranges, which faded back in progressive shades of yellow and gray into the weak white sky.
As the bus pulled out into the road I caught a glimpse of the Watcher haloed in cold morning fire.