Usually getting up before the sun is abhorrent to me, sleep sitting behind my eyes and the morning darkness a call to climb back into my bed and fall weightfully into the dreams that so pleasantly surrounded me just moments before. But on days when the moon sits high within the teal-tipped wings of night, when the wind is a rushing in my ears and all sense of now and present slips through my fingers like water through a sieve, I feel replete within the potency of the morning twilight. It is a moment, a moment caught within the infinity of moving time, that is at once here and gone, and an eternity of moments, lives and feelings caught in the tendrils of the wind on my face. I live for such moments, and from this morning came a cascading web of former mes all delighting in the moon riding on the fading darkness, and the sound of the wind tunneling through the very fiber of my being.



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