It’s a slow sunrise this morning, lots of clouds hanging in the sky. There are breaks in the curves, not enough to brighten the day yet, but a break nonetheless. It’s fitting really, the morning resembling the quiet drag of a cigarette. Wisps of smoke floating between fire and packed earth. We don’t watch the night disappear enough, it’s a serene moment. The twilight is being playfully chased away by the waking day. Slowly the colors begin to appear, blending with the hazy canvas. My eyes are so used to the shades of the sunrise that my irises have adopted their palette. No matter because it still takes some time for eyes to adjust to the light, no matter how many times I’ve gazed upon the stars. I will miss this night, for it is one that I have watched grow from a speck against the horizon. Nurturing it with words as we discover how similar we truly are. Our lives existing on a cycle, however, one day mine will end. I used to be afraid of such things, and I still am, but the fear isn’t paralyzing. Instead it pushes me, forces me to seek a fulfillment that I was unable to find elsewhere. Hmm. I hear the divine paint whispering, it sounds like fresh coffee, revving engines and newborn raindrops ready to escape from the grey clouds. It all hangs in the balance. Just as day has learned to offer the sky, so too must we learn to share this space given to us by God.