I row out into the lake: the sky is blue, the boat is blue, the water is blue. I am a blue man, floating on a blue planet. The sun is an orange apostrophe. I will call it Ra, I will call it Charles and Mrs Fish (Charles is my middle name). The mountains dance a needle jig on the tip of an oar, distorting and reforming, asterix and arrow. But the wind is a cold word      Hururu and Machhapuchhare ignites with a flick of icerock tail. Red fish in a purple sky.