Breaking of Silence

I was awake early this morning, long before the sun came up. It gave me an almost singular chance to sit in my office and drink a cup of cocoa and witness the breaking of silence. There was no wind, eerily still with no sun to push even molecules into motion, no birds to mar the perfect beauty of temperature gradient slices of air so defined you could breathe them in like flavors of ice cream. To desiccated for clouds, only the black bare branches marked the subtle shadings from apex black, to blue, to a hint of watery pink at the horizon. Definition came from what lacked, not substance itself.

A foot of Sandman’s sleep lays upon the world, the swollen, ugly red of sun devoid of even a whisper of warmth as the earth rolls in its gravity track and pushes it up through the bands of cream and blue–rainbows so stretched and thin that their color can’t be seen.

It is so cold my attic is cracking.