Now the sun is rising, just clearing the line of trees to the east, sliding from behind one of the corner minarets. The richness of its palate is revealed. The warmth of the sun is displayed across the eastern surfaces of the monument in appropriately butter-bright shades of yellow. Click on the photos.
The pale, almost ghostly surfaces seen in the weak pre-dawn are gone. No longer are there dark lower corners in photos where the lens has not been able to suck up light. The reflecting pools now have sufficient light that they can share it, sending back the famous mirror images. The gardens are green. The marble stairs leading up onto the main plaza now have shading and shadows. Bas-relief flowers and vines writhe along the surfaces of walls. The colorful floral pattern, so vivid after all these centuries, is not painted; the reds and greens are gemstones, fitted into the white marble.
A gregarious Indian family, perhaps in the silk Sari trade from what I overheard, is making the acquaintance of some of the Americans. All are tourists. Photos are taken with multiple cameras and email addresses are exchanged. The vast spaces of the world have shrunk to the size of an “@” sign.