daylight savings time may have pushed the hour forward, but it inspired no such haste in the dawn. languid almost-light broke through my window shades at ten past seven on sunday morning, its multitude of promises shrouded by the mist it wore for a cloak.

these quick moments before the true sunrise always seem to sneak up on me; i could have sworn the moon was up in my bedroom window not but thirty minutes ago. even bathing in it, i knew the moment wouldn't last. the beauty of the pre-dawn monochrome world is reserved for the intrepid insomniac. he who would not be swayed, by sleep nor television, it is for him that the day shows herself without makeup.

upon further examination, the moon remains, half-empty and now further to the right of my window, partially lit and looking decidedly lost. the old man knows insomnia as well as i; why else do we see him in the winter months, haggard in the sky, looking down on a fresh morning from the opposite side as the sun?

this, however, is rarely traversed territory for him as well. although the lone remaining celestial body in the sky, his impact is ever diminished by the passing minutes. soon he will be just another lowly spectator, awestruck and diminished by the suns rays, she who (according to the learned folks at the national weather service) will gift us with her presence and some considerable heat today.

i'd have given her something to take you, but i've nothing i consider weighty enough to withstand her heat and nothing light enough to compete with hers.

i hope this finds you well.

tchau,
bear.