You can still see the remnants by the Bowen Bridge―no longer fruit-bearing, they’ve reverted to a root-stock but still flower―cloudy acres of white blossoms in the spring…
(Sarah Day, ‘A Significant backwater’, Southerly 77.1)
I watched him depart along the white dusty road, looking like a long snake in the glare of the summer sun, until it and he who travelled thereon disappeared among the messmate- and hickory-trees forming the horizon.
I stood gazing at the hills in the distance on which the blue dreaming mists of evening were gathering, until tears stole down my cheeks.
The blue of her gown echoes the blue of the cover of the book. Her hair is concealed beneath the sails of a crisp white head-dress. Her tiny white dog waits obediently at her feet.
(Carmel Bird, ‘New Year 2018 The Folio Society Diary’)
L’embrasement est le rayonnement d’une lueur rougeoyante. Ce qui s’embrase est l’être-hors-de-soi (das Ausser-sich) qui éclaircit et fait briller, qui cependant aussi (indessen auch) peut dévorer sans se lasser et tout consumer jusqu’au blanc des cendres (in das Weisse der Asche verzehren kann).
(Heidegger, traduit par Derrida dans De l’esprit, IX)
Seeing that my efforts to annoy him failed, I gave in, and we were soon done, and then started for the river–Mr Beecham clad in a khaki suit and I in a dainty white wrapper and flyaway sort of hat. In one hand my host held a big white umbrella, with which he shaded me from the hot rays of the October sun, and in the other was a small basket containing cake and lollies for our delectation.
It was sunset―most majestic hour of the XX-four―when we drove up to the great white gates which opened into the avenue leading to the main homestead of Five-Bob Downs station―beautiful far-reaching Five-Bob Downs! Dreamy blue hills rose behind, and wide rich flats stretched before, through which the Yarrangung river, glazed with sunset, could be seen like a silver snake winding between shrubberied banks.