One glorious morning

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Another grey morning arrives, the wearily commute. Trudging through the haze and halogen fields, glaring brake lights competing with the sodium glow. Neon flashes past, junctions at red. Wipers flick-flack, lazily smearing the screen. Jolting across potholes, radio blaring, the commuter strives ever onward to their fixed destination.

We drone forwards, hunched, red-eyed, auto-pilots, each following their own route, their own routine. Morning after morning after morning after morning, we plunge through the dark, headlong, incessant.

A change, a shift.

We notice something different, a subtle indication that things are happening. Something new and fresh, a different light.

Now the gloom recedes.

Now the creamy lunar glow stretches across fields and houses, dazzled by reflections, hanging low and heavy. Slowly it fades as soft pink shards speckle the horizon, whisps of burning orange and light.

Now the night is banished, the gathering light clears the sky before it, hauling the day from slumber and into view. The moon falls to earth, hiding from it’s sibling as dawn gives way to day. The sky shimmers in blue, dappled in white, and sunlight plays on faces, dances off windows.

Another morning dawns and with it the commute. We stroll across countrysides, meander through towns, while birds float in the blue wash above. We zip onwards through junctions of green, embracing the change, ready for the day.