Good Day to You, Sir.

There’s a moment, early in the morning, where everything is perfect.

The birds are hushed. There are no cars on the road. No people in the streets.

Time stops.

You look up at the sky and see pins of light long dead to humanity. You wonder how far the darkness goes. What else is out there. Is everything planned by some great deity? Or are we all shattering abnormalities spinning without purpose into oblivion?

That’s when the soft light creeps in from the west.

Like some great magician playing the ultimate slight-of-hand, the sun drapes over the night with a fine fabric. For a few minutes you turn your head in its direction, forgetting your inquiries, and watch the dawn of a new day. New troubles, new hopes, new challenges, births and deaths. The world wakes and we start it all over again, for better or worse.

At that split second time continues.

I don’t know how long this period really lasts. Maybe fifteen minutes. Maybe fifteen millennia. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you took the time to notice a miracle.

Unfortunately, this is also the time that most homeowners turn on their sprinklers.

I get off of some stranger’s lawn, soaked to the bone, rub the stubble under my chin and grab my pants out of the street.

I need a pack of smokes and some coffee.

Jesus, maybe the clerk at that 7-11 can tell me where the hell I am…