scene

The first light is faint. A sliver of moon still glints in the sky. Rooftops covered in snowfall from last night are illuminated by the pink golden glow of sunrise. The light is brightest just before the sun slips behind the heavy grey that blankets the February sky. Her eyes open under the white sheets on her white bed in her white room which is in her white house in the white north. She is looking without seeing for a moment before her vision gains focus and expands again. Confused by the diaphonous view through bedsheets diffused by morning light, she calculates her location with non-exact percision. She is here. Outside leafless branches bend and flex with the casual movement of melting ice. Without looking at the clock, she suspects the train has already left and that it is a quarter to nine.


...to be continued