At dusk glass broke and turned back to its original form. Glass is now a series of shadows broken in colors without a scheme, pure kitsch with no conscience. Its colors violently disagree, a breaking sound like a girl’s bangles,as pure circles of light, broken while slipping on her forearm.
Glass is a love child of the earth and sun. Glass would break in shadows that are colors not falling in a scheme. Glass is random, a shadow play by an evening sun.