continuity

The dawn tells it all in silhouette-- the reach of palm and oak and cypress. The silver measure of autumn upon the rooftops. The stretch of orange and yellow and boundless blue. The framework cut in puffs of breath and motion, the horizon abiding bright.

A train wails just then, a thunder headed west and south. The rattle of the rails, the clamber of steel and wood on earth and granite. The sounds echoes through the waking streets, blithe reverb upon cold windows, the press and low upon each wall. The train yawns, dopplering on across the cold curbs and frosted asphalt. A draw in the distance, a call to every waking sense.

Commuters idle, melting ice off their windshields, casting clouds into the gutter and the drives. Coffee cup meditations, the sounds of restless dogs and breakfast battles. Lights go off and turn on, illumination surprisingly easy and inane. The bright blue day begins its stretch and grasp. The world continues its brittle continuity.