Synaptic misfire. Two minutes to reach minimum safe distance.
Dead still. Only way to describe it. No wind, no noise, solid overcast and absolute stillness. The kind that makes you stop and wonder what you are about to walk into. In some stories, those moments are always used to describe the vividness of color, the intensity of sound, the purity of smell, right before a duel, usually in the early morning twilight. Of course, Ashes of Grissum vol1 made a perfect soundtrack for the idle cruise towards whatever shadowy destination while the dissolution of dynasties and empires at the start of the last century left an appropiate taste ashes and honey on the brain. Much later, Death in June would add just the precise bit of sackcloth, to the requiem for the ruins of era never known, yet ever felt. That is really the only way to describe this, a sense of misconcieved nostalgia for the shadow of a dream long dead and a slowly swelling chorus building for a new day...The past is dead. One for the head, one for the heart, pour a glass and drink to the departed. Then let the dead lie and walk on to the next horizon...