On Friday morning there was a strange light floating above the ground, a pink-orange glow like candlelight, throwing a warm, soft focus radiance over the earth and the faces of people around me. The bus was swaying on its big, clunky metal haunches like a slightly inebriated fat lady on heels. It was warm inside and quiet. The humans were deep in their own thoughts, some listening to who knows what on their ear phones, others reading, others trying to steal a few more minutes of precious sleep. I was looking out the window, hypnotized by that light and its sundown feel. It tricked the senses into believing outside it might be summer and half eight in the evening instead of half eight on a cold, January morning. Somehow the bus seemed a magical ark suspended on a different time-space continuum and for a few minutes I was doubting the reality of my own body, my life and everything around me. In that light we all looked like Renaissance paintings in spite of the thoroughly modern trappings surrounding us.