Still in Houston and looking west from our flat at sunrise. If I take off my glasses, it's a Frankenthaler painting, although I doubt she'd pick the colors I see, and the middle strip, comprised of rectilinear blocks, almost certainly wouldn't please her. Top two-thirds, a deep blue sky; bottom one-third (just a bit shy) a darkish blurring of tree canopies, moving toward fall; in the middle a strip of the buildings, their faces, brilliant orange reflection of the rising sun.
The light the past few days has been stabbing bright, uncharacteristic for Houston. We have a good view of its transit in winter from our southwest corner flat. The view is the reason we chose this unit. We're on the sixth floor, just above the tops of the trees. It's like the treetops unroll a lawn before us.
When we're in Winedale, I tend to forget the beauty of this view, which reminds me--on the southern side--of the view across central park to the Dakotas. Our twin foci are two glass towers of Greenway Plaza. The romance may be in the associations of the former, but the beauty resides here, as well.