Morning

First thing in the morning I feel the sun beckoning me through a crack in the curtains. I wake up dissatisfied with dreaming. The dreams I had were tortured laborious dreams. Forever searching my mind on the treadmill. The cold hits me like a wet blanket covering my face as I step outside. My eyes grow wider as I feel the cold wall pressed against my face. There is something hopeful about the beginning of any day. Nothing can seem to go wrong. The possibilities stretch as far as the morning sun. The grass glistens with moisture. Everything appears different in the morning. The world awakening around you. Objects appear clear and pronounced screaming the first sigh of life. I walk towards a tree in the field. It is funny how with every step the world changes in front of me. As I walk closer to the tree it changes with every step presenting a new tree before me. Self righteous I can feel the might. A world loose of consciousness continues on into the day. That is until the void consumes us from within and the day grows dark with night. The gasp of a world that must sleep. A relief that all the world is as far away as the closing of your eyes.