Each morning has its own look and feel, it’s own little something that stands it apart from those that have been and those that have yet to break. Today I stepped out into a velvety autumn dawn, my feet silent as they touched the leaves beneath them, and my head grazing the mist that framed the street. Such are the mornings I love. And I love them because they turn the world into a quiet, intimate place, in which everything seems possible, and everyone appears as a perfectly-cast player. Yet perhaps that is always the case, and it just takes fallen leaves and a fallen sky to reveal the obvious.
