What is it?

What is it? This brightness that sears through the mist. As the day ended yesterday the landscape was closed, sealed from view in cotton white mist. We walked in the clouds and felt the rain cling to us before falling the short distance to earth where it left a sheen that belied the grubbiness.

It wasn’t raining, not really, but the air was thick and heavy, wet. Chill crept into bones while we spoke of how mild it was, for the time of year. It’s January, it should be colder, and we’re walking around with coats undone and complaining it’s too mild.

But our bones are chilled, our marrow crushed.

We slept; too cold, too warm, can’t get comfy. We dreamed dreams so deep and so clear that we weren’t sure when we woke. Were we still dreaming? Are we still dreaming?

Today, the Solar spotlight throws all into crystal razor-sharp clarity that stabs through the brain when gazed on for more than a moment.