An early morning trip to the railway station had me driving back home at 7.30am. The colours of the sunrise were surreal. If I had painted them it would have looked tacky, horrible, cheap and nasty. BUT.....
The cold crisp air produced a translucence that was almost sickly, a lemon yellow with a mere hint of cerulean blue, made bearable only by the flush of a warmer Indian yellow tinged with rose madder descending to, but not quite touching, the horizon line.
Above, the clouds were suffused with colour, a strong magenta, with the finest strip of grey where the sun could not permeate and colour the regular puffs of moisture.
Below, jagged, foreboding, strong and steely, the mountain stood totally unrelenting, cold in hue, dark in tone, untouchable, forbidding.
The line of cold, clear light that formed a delicate and transient boundary between earth and sky reminded those below that it was a bitterly cold atmosphere; ice and frost would be slow to thaw.
Bundled up in three layers of wool and rabbit fur gloves I was snug and smug... yes, the car heater was on, set to 22 degrees.
Today I am grateful for gloves and colour.