-6 AM-

There are stories told about the glaze of the sun on droplets of morning dew at 9 am and the whispered rustle of colored leaves at 1 in the afternoon of a sheltered fall day. The night is deemed eerie and daring as the moonlight slips through our curtains and shines on our restless, sleeping bodies.

But, what about 6:00 in the morning when the street lights blink out when less than half the sun can be seen against the shadow of the far-off horizon. How could we disregard a time like 6 in the morning when starlight still lingers between the strips of transparent mist and reflects off of the silky dew resting on each drooping blade of grass. The time when crickets cease their leg scraping and just for a moment everything is silent except the thumping of your own pulse against the inner walls of you ears.

When, on a clock, the small hand reaches for 6 and a long hand strikes 12, it’s as if all has slowed down and the world is drowning you in a feeling of loss and longing. You are the thumbtack marking a pinpoint of the universe. Your feet, encased by the warped stems of waking flowers, connect you to the burning heart of the Earth’s core. Your insides smoke and char, but the breeze from the nearby lake douses the flames; making the skin on your arm prickle.

And just when it seems like this picture will never fade along with the others in the photo album collection, 7 am starts up. The birds tweet and cicadas screech. The wind rustles the leaves as time continues to move. We cant forget a time like 6 in the morning.

~ 𝒾𝒻𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀 ~