In the Fog

"That day, from daybreak, a strange, motionless fog stood in the streets. It was light and transparent; it didn’t hide objects, but everything that passed through it turned into a тревожний dark yellow, and the fresh blush on women’s cheeks, bright spots of their outfits, showed through it like through a black veil: everything was both dark and clear. To the south, where behind the curtain of clouds November’s low sun hid, the sky was bright—brighter than the earth. And to the north it descended in a wide, steadily darkening veil, becoming yellow-black and opaque near the ground, as at night. Against this heavy backdrop, dark buildings looked light gray, and two white columns at the entrance to some garden—emptied by autumn—were like two yellow candles over a corpse. And the flowerbeds in that garden were torn up and trampled by rough feet, and late, painfully bright blooms quietly died in the fog on broken stems…"