This Little Lane: The Way Out of the Morning

It rained sometime during the night. When I woke, the windows were glittering with little drops of rain. The sky was the pale blue of the very early morning. It looked damp, like eyes that have just finished crying. The roads, black stone paved, were wet and shining. Everything looked clean, and fresh. There was a bird song floating down from somewhere nearby. And a cool wind, just cool enough to feel fresh and clean. New snaps up at Flickr!

Originally uploaded by prerona.

I love the early mornings. Before the world wakes up. You feel like you are the only person in the world and its all yours. Its that time of the day when it the word alone never stings. or mocks. It sings.

Whatever had built up till now has been washed away in the night, and for a while life feels clean, new and virgin, and everything seems possible again. Like a brand new start. You forget not to believe. You forget all the lessons like has taught you, and feel brave enough to start again.

I put on the coffee, and the smell fills the little kitchen as it gurgles. I lean my face on the glass of the window and it feels cool to touch. Outside, the little shimmering drops are fading as the sun warms up and dries them. Slowly, people wake up and voices fill the air. The stark emptiness fades like the drops of rain. I wake up and go look in the mirror. And start to wear my day-self again.

**This post reminded me of floating on wet winds: an old post from Ricercar. And of this: "the sky cried all night. in the morning, he turned his face up to me, like a little boy who has let it all out in a heavy shower of tears. Light. Still wet. A little tender. Almost unbearably sweet. I have this silly urge to smile at everyone I see"

Originally Posted at Prerona.

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