I was driving into the sun. I couldn't see the signals without nearly blocking them out with my hand. There were dark streaks on the pavement--those must've been people. Those driving towards me, I realized, would never guess that those of us driving the other way were nearly blinded. To them, we just looked exceptionally well-lit. I slowed down, afraid I would run into one of them. I wished for sunglasses, and wondered why is the light like this in winter?
I'm becoming convinced that "it's always darkest before the light" is a convenient distortion. Isn't it always lightest when it's darkest? Fall kills all the leaves, and they glow warmly in the cold before dropping off entirely, removing all obscurity but the bare limbs. Whenever I go outside it's pure glare--the cars are white flares, even the nearest mountains are nearly the color of the sky. If it snows, the ground becomes painful to look at.
I couldn't see the speedometer because it was all green. When I finally turned off from that street perfectly aligned with the sun and arrived at my brother's house, everything was still green, as it is, as if the leaves are haunting us (it's all about the trees, clearly). But it would sound strange to mention after-images. What can one say but hello?