it is early and I am awake. the kind of early awake, that is mottled and unspecific, just lights and colors, like a Monet painting up close. nothing is too sharp, or too detailed…
it is all a thought,
a moment,
reactive.
I stumble down the stairs and into the early morning city dusk.
the air is cool and hits my face like the other side of the pillow.
there is something.
it isn’t the dewy pavement eeriely reflecting the light from the faint glow of the streetlights.
it isn’t the golden sprinkling of fall leaves dotting the sidewalk and the tips of the trees silhoutted against a perfectly clouded sunrise.
it isn’t the sleeping cars, and sleeping houses, and sleeping people.
it is some change that is perceived in a solely intangible manner.
it is me. and you. perhaps it is us.
it is hope. in the most innocent and vulnerable context.
from an unexpected sign. at an unexpected hour. in an unexpected place.
it is time and it is place and it is fate. I think. and maybe even a little faith.
and it is foreign, and frightening, but beautiful.
