on a Sunday summer morning, these parts start to resemble Peter Brook’s King Lear or Orson Welles’s Macbeth, both shot in black and white. These are apocalyptic days of Nature’s “eruptions” when “Nothing is but what is not”. Best put by Frost perhaps:
It looked as if a night of dark intent/Was coming, and not only a night, an age./ Someone had better be prepared for rage./There would be more than ocean-water broken/Before God’s last Put out the light was spoken. (“Once by the Pacific”)