A light glimmers on the horizon
The blackness of trees and bushes silhouetted on the greying sky
A bird chirps.

The wind rustles through the forest
A golden sliver of light peeks over the hilltop, and gently touches the topmost branches
I sip my kawhe.

Looming clouds huddle in the northern sky
The light grows, but an autumn chill pushes back against the encroaching dawn
A leaf flutters down

The sky lightens from grey to blue
The east is streaked with gold and pink, but the clouds in the north grow dark and brooding with resentment.
I shiver. Where is my cloak?

The clouds and sun bicker with each other
I can see them arguing about whether the day will be glorious or gloomy, fair or foul.
Time will tell.


Penned by my hand on the 19th of Scarlatan, in the year 916 AF.