The huge window in my room at the Toronto hotel bears some mention. Toronto is far enough north that the sun rises at seven this time of year. Because my room was so high up I could leave the curtains open when I slept. (Always my preference, not always possible.) Just about when I was ready to get up, so was the sun. It threw a bright golden light into the room, of a color I'm used to associating with late afternoon. The lake took on a burnished bronze streak as the sun rose over it; then the light turned white as the sun climbed. That was every day, except the morning I woke to a storm. Rain everywhere and nothing else to be seen. Then the cloud that was smothering the hotel moved east, and I could see the streets, the buildings and the lake in very odd light: in the east, where the sun was coming up, the storm was black and heavy, but in the west, behind me, the sky was clear. The light, until about half an hour after dawn, was completely shadowless, like twilight.