rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Before Dawn

Yesterday evening, there was a touch of fog in the air. It wasn't a fog that could itself be seen. It was discernable by the way it made everything else look-- just a bit fuzzy, and suggestively romantic. As the night passed, the fog lifted and joined the moisture high in the air to form the clouds which now block all but a few stars. Only Venus remains bright, though less bright than it has been for the last several nights. It hangs alone in the southeast, haloed like a street lamp in a film noir It burns with a steady, white light, as though it were the moon, removed to a vast distance. The moon itself has not risen. Without it, the clouds are barely visible.

This hour before morning twilight is my favorite time of day, but I must stay up awfully late to see it this time of year. So late does darkness linger, that the silence of the town begins to break before the light, with the sound of early commuters driving down the highway toward the valley. I hear a jet passing overhead-- some red-eye flight from Portland or Seattle on its way to Sacramento, I suppose-- but its winking lights are not visible through the blanket of cloud. I sense the awakening of the world around me, of all the people with places to go. I have nowhere to go but to sleep. I inhale a last breath of the cool, moist air, now laced with the faint scent of a neighbor's morning coffee, and then go in. Time to curl up next to a purring cat, and wander to wherever it is that my seldom-remembered dreams take me.

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