The moon begins to dim as sunrise nears, and the silky-sheer clouds will soon outshine it. That deep shade of blue the sky now takes, the warm air quickened by a soft breeze, the pine needles the breeze wakens, all vibrate with anticipation. Some hint of color takes form where the mountain ridges brush the eastern horizon, and the last star gives a last twinkle and goes out. Night's vague trailing edge is slipping past, and rather than seeing dawn as a curtain rising to reveal the world, I see it as a curtain falling to conceal the universe. All Earth's dusts and gasses catch the light and blind the world to stars, shrink our vision, make us focus on the nearby and common sights. Our sky, conspiring with the sun, becomes a mirror like Narcissus' pool, but one in which we gaze upon ourselves in our small mass, forgetting the vastness beyond. We are blinded by light. I have always been a lover of the night, when the vast distances, opening, detach me from the mass and propel my thoughts into a solitude defined by falling light more ancient than any works of man. It is not the daily world and its distractions that illuminate individual consciousness, but the immensity that only night reveals.