I saw visions today.
I think I saw an angel.
A man lying on his back in the grass, and the sunlight caught the grass so that it shone and glittered with gold, like a halo.
Willow trees shimmering like gold leaf, so thin you can move it with your breath.
A pale blue sky with broken clouds that seemed to recede as I ran towards them (though I know, really, it was only an optical illusion caused by my more rapid progress towards a tall chestnut tree).
And last night, coming back home about ten as the sun fell, a pair of paper hot air balloons rising into the sky (itself just that rich purple velvet before full darkness comes), the tealights making them glow richly as they swooped upwards, taking the light breeze to the west.
I'd been wondering today, after reading Tracy Chevalier's Burning bright and blogging about the Blake exhibition at the Tate, how William Blake could see the 'chartered streets' of London as angels.
And now I know.