Right now, the sun is rising. I can't see it because I'm facing to the west. I could turn around. The shutters are already open. But it's winter here and the trees are thin. I can watch the sunrise reflected in the neighbor's front window. It's a single orange smear, a pane of glowing glass in a cottage I'd never even noticed; everything fades. Faster than you think, everything changes. Now the sun is a streak across my wall. It's a red cabinet, a row of kokeshi dolls, suddenly illuminated.