Today the dawn looked like dusk.
It didn’t stop me, because it was breathtaking. But it was beautiful.
The clouds, like an outstretched hand, cupping the sky. The light trickling through its fingers. The light of the day above its hand, the light of the night below. Slowly disappearing darkness. Icy winds, tell the coming of the rain. Gentle rumbling, easily mistaken for shifting furniture. A melancholic nostalgic feeling running through the canvas.
Does a picture tell the complete story?
Do words tell the complete story?
Put them together. The complete story?
Maybe. But not definitely.
I could not be definite that it was a dawn. Even though it was.
Today the dawn looked like dusk. Maybe it was meant to.