What looked like a small patch of purple grass, no more than five feet square, was moving across the sand toward them. When it came close enough, he realized it wasn’t grass; there were no blades, only purple roots. The roots were spinning, for each small plant in the entire patch, like the spokes of a rimless wheel.

Apparently we had reached a great height in the atmosphere, for the sky was pitch black, and the stars had stopped twinkling. By the same optical illusion that raises the horizon of the sea to the level of the observer on a hillside, the inky cloud below was curved outward, and the car seemed to float in the middle of an immense dark sphere, the upper half of which was strewn with silver.

As I continued on, still gaining speed, the distinction between night and day faded into a single, continuous gray; the sky took on a wonderful depth of blue, a splendid, luminous color like that of early twilight; the flickering sun became a streak of fire, a brilliant arc in space; the moon, a fainter, wavering band; and I could see nothing of the stars, save now and then a brighter circle flickering in the blue.

As I continued on, still gaining speed, the distinction between night and day faded into a single, continuous gray; the sky took on a wonderful depth of blue, a splendid, luminous color like that of early twilight; the flickering sun became a streak of fire, a brilliant arc in space; the moon, a fainter, wavering band; and I could see nothing of the stars, save now and then a brighter circle flickering in the blue.