Mornings. Hazy, dusty mornings in the dun-hued sunlight; these are the essence of life. Not Nights- nights are dark and angst-filled. Evenings are just pretentious.

Mornings are real and gritty and sleepy-eyed, intruding on your comfortable sleep, nagging like a mother. You can feel the sandy air in your lungs, the last dreams escaping from beneath eyelids. The clumsy, bleary-eyed first steps.

The shower shocks; and then it's railings, staring out at the sun and the buildings. It is a quiet brightness, raw and unmitigated. Smiling at the sun and the dust, I turn away.

100 words

adam