In the inmost of the smallest of all spacesruns a mute and constant play of color, inaccessible to eyes.
It is the light shut in that once in the moment of creationwas born inward and abode there, going on, once it had broken
up into the smallest of spectra in keeping with prismatic law at
frequencies that by the sighted would be called colorsif they encountered eyes able to see.It moved in periods unimaginably small for time and spacebut still with time and space enough for the least of the small.In fact it found it had ample room and time.It moved in cycles of nanoseconds and microspacesfrom white light and the colors of the spectrum and back to white light.A kind of breathing for light.The photons breathed and pulsated with one another,alternating signs and levels.So the light kept going in spectral balancefrom dense light to split and back to dense light and split,in spectral cycles infinitely repeated.It was like a play of fans,in keeping with the same law that holds for rainbows,but with spread and folded fans alternating with one anotherin keeping with the law of light inscribed in them.It was the light when it dances enclosedwhen it is not traveling abroad and seen.It belongs to the nature of light that it can be shut in and
still not die out in its movement,that it preserves itself thus in the darkness as thought, intent
and aptitude, that it remembers its changesand performs its dance, its interplay.With this art the light keeps together the innumerable
swarms of matter and sings with light's spectral wings the
endless song in honor of the fullness of the world.–Harry Martinson