With broad brushstrokes the unfolding of the world is painted in the blinking eyes of dawn.
The heavens are shrouded by layers upon layers of gray, wool-like and vaporous, with flickers of silver which loom across the horizon, and are held up by the outstretched arms of towering fir and pine.
The Sun remains cloaked and hooded behind them all. She is coy and shows off neither ankle, wrist, nor elbow. Her radiance is hidden under the paleness of day. The heads of mountains are covered by the foggy hem of her skirts, and at their feet water—cold and clear— ripples across the bones of the Earth, filling up his veins.