Me, Myself and Catherine

By cspeakman

Ephemeral

A non-picture, really - made only by the scarcity of these moments of colour and cloud. Transient, unique, there is a tireless thrill as the neon glow transforms the lanscape to another existance, where it will, before it passes again with as little fanfare as it appeared. Not the image I had hoped for maybe, but an astonishing morning nonetheless - to arrive in the blue dawn to crystal-clear skies (I could see with dismay the inversion I had hoped to find twenty miles away to the east) yet as the sun began to colour the horizon the air around seemed to thicken as clouds condensed from the nothingness. Everywhere, before my eyes like an apparition, the clouds formed and boiled over the landscape, so that within ten minutes nearly all was obscured, and I sank inexorably to be swallowed by the billowing waves - with only ephemeral glipses through partings that appeared so suddenly and completely that their previous existance could not be doubted, yet dissolved again to leave the feeling that they had never been.

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