A passerby, maybe blinking in the sunlight after the darkness of a masturbation booth, sees only a carbon monoxide aurora above the sidewalk. The outline of a ghost, the radioactive decay of a memory, the subtle transmigration from the everyday... to the impossible. In other words, he doesn't notice a thing.
Always listen to your heart, even though it's usually about as stupid as any other hunk of mindless meat and muscle.
Thus, the Harrowing of Avalon. Red and bleeding gold are the sunsets of this age. Let the ground sleep fallow for ten thousand years of night. Let them crawl back from their dark-age muds and contagions. Let them relearn all their secret sciences and magicks. They will never learn to fight us. And we will come again to rape the shining kingdoms that rise from Camelot's ashes. Now take us home to Summer's End.