First Light

The smell of the wet grass wakes all up first, barely ahead of the chirp from the little bird out the window; all in perfect time to wake all up from little soft deaths of sleep.


The blood-orange disk rises slowly but steadily over the cracks and gorges on the face of the planet, rising above grey chalk clouds, and pink-silver paint streaks.


Illumination on all that either is still in silent snoring slumber, or crawling and moving, looking for fresh berries and leaves; the coffee and eggs of all that is not human.


Still beating, the sound of your heartbeat, as it matches second-for-second as the burning disk climbs higher, catching and transforming chalk grey into powder sugar white.


Clear upper ocean pours through the heavens palette; splotches of chalk, powder, blood, and rose; all blend in and around the upper ocean and blood-orange burning disk; heralding in clock-work cuckoo of rooster and chime.


May 'morrow be a hearty morning, a laborious day, a cessational evening, and a little-death filled night, brought in by high and low contrasting disks of blood-orange light and silver-black shadow.


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