“Across the narrow, quivering line of water, the delicate budding
branches of young trees were limned black against the gold,
orange,—what word is there to tell the color of that morning sky! And
steeped in the splendor of it hung one pale star; there was not another
in the whole heaven. . . .
    She stayed there motionless upon the brink of the
river till the star melted into the brightness of the day and became
part of it.”

—Kate Chopin, ‘Tante Cat’rinette’, from A Night in Acadie, 1897.