So, a week or two ago myself and some friends got up very early in the morning to sit by the sea and watch the sun come up. Because it's Britain, we saw no sun. We did however see a swarm of birds fly over us a few times and I managed to snap some photographs. They feel a bit like marmite to me; do I love them or do I hate them?
Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses ... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth—reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. — Guildenstern (Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard)