Sunday, January 14

• Scattered spots of light, glinting though the misty hill--the sides of buildings, catching the sun.
• In the early morning quiet mist, the only spot of color on the road is the ornage-ochre of the old Volswagon van, and above it, the last remnant of autum leaves on the tree. 

• The morning sun, breaking through the window, lights up the nright green towel, leading to the leaves of the ornage, which brighten to the bright yellow of the lemon, tleading to the more faded yellow of the  banana.

• the interticies between the drying dishes, creating deep, mysterious spaces, the piled, flipping spaces.

• The strong wind sets the laundry billowing, revealing the multiple layers, one bhind the other. Somehow (taste? sets?) similar colors are usually placed together: red floral tablecloth near a solid maroon towek, a deep peach overlapping a more faded pink-ornage.

• The elderly man in a cap reading his newspaper in the cafe. With his florid face and round blue eyes, he looks like a refugee from an OCanon Doyle story.

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