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Description
It is the a habit of the grass, over which I spend my waking hours, to cling all it can reach. Several billion watery prisms chill the breath, and they are welcome. Sweet holds mean more than told when nuzzled by the dew. Still, never does the world feel more open than when hilltops are licked by the sun's foretelling glow. Here starts a new day.

Pines quiver in this hour, awaiting the kiss of light. They are not like the small children who squeal their excitement; they are elders, whispering forgotten words with eyes bright and wide. They wear the wind and it suits them well.

The sky is clear, crisp. Shadowed clouds herd together and flee to the farthest side of the horizon. They seek to escape the sun and this time run too late. Higher still starlights fade out. They will yield the day to our neighbor and their sister, but not yet. They smile and wave, then close their eyes to sleep.

Night air hangs on the edge of the day. Though brighter than true night the air keeps the birds still and mute. The flowers are all closed, lost, drowsy. Even here they are beautiful. It is a time of violets, and blues.

Shadows frenzy. It is their last hurrah before they hide behind other things. Never are they more alive. An anti-flame, just as violent but cold and dark. Princely wraiths, silent and noble.

Here I sit, not waiting. Now is a beautiful time. Now is Pre-Dawn. It calls my soul and beckons me to greater things.

Description
It is the a habit of the grass, over which I spend my waking hours, to cling all it can reach. Several billion watery prisms chill the breath, and they are welcome. Sweet holds mean more than told when nuzzled by the dew. Still, never does the world feel more open than when hilltops are licked by the sun's foretelling glow. Here starts a new day.

Pines quiver in this hour, awaiting the kiss of light. They are not like the small children who squeal their excitement; they are elders, whispering forgotten words with eyes bright and wide. They wear the wind and it suits them well.

The sky is clear, crisp. Shadowed clouds herd together and flee to the farthest side of the horizon. They seek to escape the sun and this time run too late. Higher still starlights fade out. They will yield the day to our neighbor and their sister, but not yet. They smile and wave, then close their eyes to sleep.

Night air hangs on the edge of the day. Though brighter than true night the air keeps the birds still and mute. The flowers are all closed, lost, drowsy. Even here they are beautiful. It is a time of violets, and blues.

Shadows frenzy. It is their last hurrah before they hide behind other things. Never are they more alive. An anti-flame, just as violent but cold and dark. Princely wraiths, silent and noble.

Here I sit, not waiting. Now is a beautiful time. Now is Pre-Dawn. It calls my soul and beckons me to greater things.