the sunrise. or maybe just a little before it. the sky, flaunting a pale blue to signify the near presence of the sun, has finally awakened. clouds — not invasive, nor intrusive, nor shielders of heat, but created as a model for renaissance paintings — litter the blue as they settle into position for the great ceremony. they are not the only attendees. as raccoons and owls scurry into their lightless homes, small brightly-painted birds and squirrels step out to survey the area. acorns have been hidden, seeds have been consumed. everything is in its place. wind makes her presence known through a gentle caress, reminding you the time is near — fore she had already conducted the farewell of the moon. the cool touch of the flat stone against your toes speaks: you are in the right place. your body sinks into the grass as you take a seat. the gentle rustling floods into your ears, which choose to embrace the sound as an experience. a candlelit yellow unfolds in the distance. she carefully steps onto the stage, as she knows she is carrying the weight of the world. despite this, however, she chooses to feel: bliss.
written January 30, 2019.
published in Dynamo Literary Magazine, 2019