I was about to post under the heading of REALITY?:
Peaches and Cream clouds in a blue china sky, strawberry clusters on the snowball bush, the colors of a rain-washed sunsetting day.
I also intended to take a picture of it because it’s so fantastically beautiful, and I wanted to share it but just couldn’t tear myself away, for it changes so quickly.
But the point is this, that no words have never been thought of before; damn few sequencing of words to describe–aside from a few like McCarthy and such–are so brilliant and new. Once I wrote a bowl of sky, and oddly enough–or not so strange, I suppose–I’ve just read the same reference in a short story written half a century ago.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology