6.59a Thursday

Now just sit back and let a morning happen.Outlines begin to emerge. Slowly and yet if you were to look down you’ll miss it, pastel purple giving its hue to the world if only a minute.Sky lightens. Little by little until it’s a lot white and bright. But not shining in. It’s the magic hour. The dog is a sleep. The woman still asleep. The house dark except its kitchen light over the sink. Don’t dare look at an inbox; to-dos will promptly steal this. Just me, my tea, the space heater and the grace of before seven.