“It was there, indeed, where it came out–the sun–or something that could have been the sun, and it was there that it must have come out from behind the mountain, just in time to hide itself again.
But it had grown red and the rock where Metraillier was standing became red; and the sun up above had not shown itself, although it seemed that we had shown it; it had not risen, although it seemed that we had lifted it: disheveled, and all wrapped up, entwined with clouds which were themselves like clots of blood.
Exactly like a severed head around which the beard and hair still hung smoking; that we lifted in the air a moment, only to let fall again. And already the fog and the darkness had come back to their place.”
— Charles Ferdinand Ramuz, “What If the Sun…” translation by Michelle Bailat-Jones
(You can read my essay on Ramuz at Tin House)