Before sunrise the sky was issued in a hush so complete it seemed deliberate. The palette I had brought was unnecessary; color had begun its own instruction. A yellow drifted out over the water and behaved like weather, not light. Blue sorted itself into distances and made the air compliant. On the slope the stones warmed, each one with the patience of a small moon rehearsing its glow. I stood beside them to learn the lesson, but the method permitted no questions. It required waiting. After a time the silence pressed a faint tint into my hands. I could not keep it; the tint belonged to the day and returned to it, leaving my fingers clean and slightly obedient.
