“All afternoon in the deck chair, I try to describe to my notebook the colors of the water and sky. How to translate sunlight into words?”

“The words 'mainly in America' translated to me as 'this is bollocks' and I sat back in my chair with a sigh.”

“Translate into words for me the sighings of the wind through the forest and the withdrawal of the sea down the pebbly beach and the string of sunlight playing on the hyacinth-strewn grass. You cannot! Then you know why the apostle described his experiences in Paradise as unspeakable.”

“It is strange how sad it can be - sunlight in the afternoon, don't you think?”

“Like sheep which, having been driven to a pasture, can now spread out at their leisure, the clouds began to drift. Afternoon sunlight sliced through into the still waters. The boomerang hung in the sky, and the boy thought he would have to find a new word for the way the colours glowed. In the meantime, he looked down at the water and tried out the word he'd been taught by his grandfather, who'd been taught it by his grandfather, and which had been kept for thousands of years for when it would been needed. It meant the smell after rain. It had, he thought, been well worth waiting for.”

“His skin radiates so much of the day's heat that touching him feels like wading into the lake, opening my hand, and catching one of the white shimmers of blistering afternoon sunlight bouncing across the water.”