Line Over Lake Pontchartrain

A single wire runs almost perfectly level across the frame, riding just above the dark, flat band where Lake Pontchartrain meets the sky. Everything above it is soft gray cloud, grainy and directionless; everything below is water, rendered as one unbroken strip of near-black.

It's a composition of three bands and one line — sky, wire, water — with nothing to break the horizontal except the thin thread stretched across it. The wire is the only evidence of land, or people, or anything but weather in the whole frame.