There was a filmy veil of soft dull mist obscuring, but not hiding, all objects, giving them a lilac hue, for the sun had not yet fully set; a robin was singing ... The leaves were more gorgeous than ever; the first touch of frost would lay them all low to the ground. Already one or two kept constantly floating down, amber and golden in the low slanting sun-rays.
Are you, then, the god of white people, and if we who are brown worship You, do we receive your blessings as white men do? I pray that You be not white, that You be without color and that You be in all men because goodness cannot be encased only in white.
I'm loving every second working with the brilliant Kayvan Novak; it's a hoot from dawn to dusk!
