Blue Hour

A wet window at golden hour: drops of every size on the glass, each one holding a small upside-down country, two that ran, one smeared by a thumb. The interface is made of the same water. Raised is a bead on the glass with one highlight and a shadow ring under it; recessed is the wet ring a bead leaves. One gold hit per screen, the sun inside a drop.

The site's name sits on the picture the way a name sits on a record sleeve, in Hour Light, an extended light face drawn for the look where every dot is a drop. A plain body face does the reading. Twelve icons, solid silhouettes under one light. Headlines coalesce from beads, and what a lens holds slides against it.

It refuses: a second accent, a hard drop shadow, a square button, the pane behind body copy, an icon drawn with a stroke, a second photograph, and a tidy grid of drops.