The first eager suffusions
of dawn-break ease into the early morning calm, transforming everything into a
pale reflection of the pinkish sea-sky. Soon, yolky sunlight shall sprinkle
down on upon the sleepy affairs of men. It shall peek through
imperfectly-fitting windows and cracks and mischievously tickle curtained
dreams, and creep behind drowsy screens of creamy fantasy. People shall arise,
and shed the darkness, rub out the sleep-dust from their eyes. The
gentle whirr of awakening life fractures the stillness of the morning, inters the dead night. The stars slip away, as silently as they came. The bashful,
milk moon cries as the orange-juice sun makes love to it for the last time. The
birds chorus in the ravenous joy of being alive. The clouds look on in benign
enjoyment. It's a new day.
It's almost time for breakfast.
...
Go away, all you harbingers of Activity. I have
stayed awake for too long. Let me sleep for a little while more. Let me dream,
a little while more.
...
You come to me in the fissures between sleep and consciousness.
You come to me in the fissures between sleep and consciousness.
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