Driving to work, running late, as usual. Actually not speeding, there are ice patches on the road from everything melting yesterday and refreezing last night, and snowflakes in the air. The sky is a light grey and white swirling low cloud. Scattered snow collects on the ground in random low spots, between bare trees, and along fence lines. A flock of crows scatters off the road into a field as I drive by. I notice the sun, hanging oddly in the sky beside the steep mountain side. It looks like a glowing silver sphere through the foggy haze covering the mountain top. It is not bright, I can look directly at it without eye strain. Its edge is rather fuzzy, indistinct, blurry, a child’s surreal watercolor painting of a silver ball thrown far away into a dream world. This silver sun looks almost unreal, as if I could reach out and touch it like a theater prop. As I am contemplating the unusual light of our closest star on this overcast morning, the clouds close in, the mysterious vision disappears into the grey void, and I turn into the parking lot.