"Through a gap in the trees of the park I can see the blond grass of the meadow - turned quite yellow under the sun like the waters of the old River Plate - and the dark green of the oak woods, offset beyond, the trees so densely leafed that they seem to billow out over the sun-bleached yellow grass like smoke or waves. And, closer to, the sharp clarity of the sunlight on the bushes and the creeper around the house is perfect: the perfect balance of leaf-shadow, leaf-shine and leaf-translucence - absolutely correct, as if worked out by mathematical formulae to provide the ideal visual stimulus. Down by the barn a thick patch of thistle is in seed and the wandering breeze snatches the thistle-down and lifts it sky-ward in small urgent flurries - backlit by the sun so that the down seems to sparkle and gleam like mica or sequins - so much so that it looks like photons of light are taking to the air, flying upwards - rising upwards, blowing away across the meadow - like what? - like glow worms, like lucent moths."
- William Boyd, from Any Human Heart, Alfred A. Knopf, 2003
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