The light by the river sometimes has odd effects. It can soften or sharpen edges, it can hide things or point them out. The same view looks different depending on the angle of the sun, the height of the clouds, whether there's mist. Under some conditions some colors pop forward: yellow when the fog is heavy, green and blue when the air is dry. Yesterday the sky was absolutely clear and the morning mist was so fine you almost couldn't see it at all. And suddenly everything red was announcing itself. The red tugs; the stripes on the lighthouse; two patches of crimson above the roadway on the opposite shore -- I don't know what they were but they sure were bright. The red bodies of the construction equipment across the river to the north of my new spot. (Maybe they'll build something to hide the blue buildings!) Even some of the redder brick buildings seemed to glow. It's a subtle shift, this alteration of the air that seems to change the weight of the colors, or maybe the volume, the way instruments in an orchestra change in relation to each other, so sometimes you hear the violins and sometimes the trombones.