2 February, 6:30 AM, Bus Stop
Turning east I notice the tiers of light stretching over the river. Sunrise closest to the water, pushing open the covers of night; above that, the soft haze of hovering warm gray from the moments when neither completely awake nor fully asleep; next, the vast swath of dreams rolling their star-filled stories threaded with the light that lives just beyond, and tucking them carefully into their satchels.
Transient though this moment is, and alone as it might seem I am, I’m certain that in some way I am also sharing this with those in my life who would also appreciate this moment of a morning’s becoming.
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