The heavens had been pure blue all day but, as dusk fell, they acquired a smoky quality at lower elevations. I sat to watch four red deer across the slopes opposite, until I happened to glanced westward.
The heart of that woodland scene was burnt out by the brilliance of the low-angled sun, but to either side of the glare, I could operate with binoculars and camera. In the canted light, the middle distance beyond the oakwood foliage, as well as the field foreground, were all the softest shades of pale copper and sepia. Yet the vegetation, especially the horizon of bent grasses, was glazed in a fractal pattern of splintered light, and through it all, where the faintest breeze had passage, was a seethe of slow-wafted particles shining white against the darkness.
