Part 9
Time passes -- both incredibly fast and incredibly slow, now, paradoxically -- but it does pass. And with it, even though it still comes in world dominating swings of his focus or reactions, he begins to feel less and less like someone who hopped up on lethal dose of crack. A reference he's well enough aware to see Carlisle understanding and not quite approving of.
Edward isn't thinking of that right now though. He never does. Not right now.
He's standing on the porch. It's still deep morning for the world. Darkness reigning.
Except it isn't. He can smell it. The dry warmth of the sun. And he can see it. The moment when the air, in the canopy of ink velvet blue black begins to soften and shift with infinitesimally more light. The reverse of an ink drop in water. He can all but touch the light being born in the darkness every morning. He doesn't know if it’s because his eyes can see into the stratosphere. Not how or why. He has all he needs to know in watching it.
That it's beyond captivating. Mesmerizing. There may never be enough mornings in eternity to watch this happen.
Edward isn't thinking of that right now though. He never does. Not right now.
He's standing on the porch. It's still deep morning for the world. Darkness reigning.
Except it isn't. He can smell it. The dry warmth of the sun. And he can see it. The moment when the air, in the canopy of ink velvet blue black begins to soften and shift with infinitesimally more light. The reverse of an ink drop in water. He can all but touch the light being born in the darkness every morning. He doesn't know if it’s because his eyes can see into the stratosphere. Not how or why. He has all he needs to know in watching it.
That it's beyond captivating. Mesmerizing. There may never be enough mornings in eternity to watch this happen.