Woke up, got out of bed...

Monday morning. I groggily shuffled my feet through the pre-morning purple haze to the octagon shaped window in my room where I discovered that a light coating of snow had dusted the neighborhood at some mysterious point during the night. Since the sun had not completely risen, everything was bathed in soft pink and frosty blue hues unless temporarily caught in the warm yellow gaze of headlights shining forward from a sluggish passing car creaking up the icy road.
It was a serene and sweetly surreal scene and it provided me with a soft landing into the reality of another January morning.



I stood there silently for several minutes straddling the realm between waking consciousness and dream as an orange sun reluctantly appeared over the distant horizon like a child in an outlandish costume being nudged on stage.
From my little octagon window on the top floor of my house on top of the only hill in my little town, I watched the cautious sun back light a passing train heading into the early morning madness of a Philadelphia rush hour. It was somewhat magical, like placing your eyes against those antique flicker machines and turning the crank. For a nanosecond, each window frame and silhouetted passenger passed between the fiery glow of the morning sun and my eyes. It was then that I decided to head downstairs, feed the cats, make the coffee and start my day.