It was a cold autumn day with a cloudless, hazy sky and a yellow sun that no longer gave off any heat, the kind you can look at directly without hurting your eyes.

I jumped up and washed and hurried on my clothes, but in a hazy and half awake condition.

Details, for example, from my several days' ride through the Montana Hi-Line, the plains near the Canadian border, are hazy, the towns I stopped in mixed up in my head.

All of these things are knowable and definable and yet obscured and opaque.

Turning round the hillside, we found a tract of flat ground. At its end, we saw a house shrouded in the dim light of night.