After an hour or more had lapsed in front of the screen, unconsciously, I watched back at the blind, which has never been raised. A light glow had penetrated the slots between shafts, piecing up a pallet of fanciful opalescence softly and loftily. As I rotated the strips, I was stunned by the scenery ahead my eyes. Within the window frame, rainbow drew a complete arc, as if a nacreous, lustrous bridge had been built from the tranquil yard of the facing house to the water not too far away. On the top of the arc, a piece of cloud had divided the sky into two separate parts. Here this half, the crimson clouds set off the world beneath them like the dreamily bright night. There, the curtain walls of downtown were reflecting the carmine sunset above the sea horizon. A thin haze had risen from the surface, dispersing the saintly glow from the bridge piers.
继续阅读“Journal 50: Rainbow”