No. There is a light haze. A morning light haze, faint but present, gilding the blue. But it is a clear morning. Bright. The sun’s rays are golden beams through which the insects dance. Motes of light.
My fingers are cold, I am swathed in a so’uester. Warm inside, cold out, but living.
And life’s living.
Yesterday, evening, was in town. Traffic was very bad. Coming up
Leaves, and tree branches, and more detritus. The signs of an accident on the road, with no lighted triangles to mark it.
In the middle, almost invisible, till someone pointed it out, the body of a small child. Curled up, in death, lonely and alone in this huge, crowded city. Maybe a street urchin, a living life, snuffed out in the busy road, that could barely take a moment to notice. One a policeman, taking a statements, seemingly. But others, the walls of moving cars, barely noticing the body amidst the branches and the people staring. Noting, yes, policeman, but hardly glancing at death in the midst.
I know. I do write, maybe well, maybe not.
The last few days, a fever possessed me. I have not been well. Still, of now, I am recovering, the strains of other worldliness just lifting. I see a beautiful morning, to me. I will remember that I am mortal, and life is brief.
Briefer for some than for others.
I will yearn for the glittering lights, but not much. The comforts of wealth, the neon lights and gold paved streets. But in the today, today, I will find the gold and diamond jewels and nuggets that life has to offer.
I will write as I can, what I can. The beauty of the moment, the pain that lives with it. I will cry out into the wind, and whisper into the storm. I will live my life as is, thus I will be complete.
A mortal man that I am, unlikely to outlive myself. To you all, that are alive with me this brief dream, good morning.