"Beauty of sunlight falling on a tall vase of red and while carnations and green leaves [ . . .] The light and the dark. The darkness of the fresh, crinkled flower: light, warm and red, all around the darkness. The flower is the same color as blood, but it is in no sense whatever "as red as blood." Not at all! It is as red as a carnation. Only that.
This flower, this light, this moment, this silence: Dominus est. Eternity."
Here all I find is the second in a long sequence of grey days: aluminum grey sky, dulled colors, light mist as I walk . . .