Dawn
I want to talk about that moment before the sun rises, when the sky is painted a dusty blue. When the air still smells of damp and frost and night and the memory of stars still flickers in the sky, while their brilliance dims and melts and they wave their final farewell. I love that moment. That moment of magic and mystery and a satisfying feeling of knowing anything may happen that coming day. Some call it
hope. But I prefer "contentment." In no other second in our endless cycles of 24-hour days can we falter and sigh and not have it matter at all. In no other minute can we look up and out and within all at once and see with new eyes what we have never seen before, or hear for the first time the unfamiliar utterings of exotic nighttime creatures, and know that life is maybe, just possibly worth living after all.
