Morning

Sunrise hints at the horizon, glowing a vivid red against long strands of dark purple clouds. A few minutes pass, and the light has turned to a brilliant orange, gorgeous, illuminating the fractured textures of the clouds which shift imperceptibly, the scene in a slow but fascinating state of flux.

And others sleep.

Earlier this year, I had a mental epiphany reading the conclusion to The Grapes of Wrath, so powerful, so deep, so meaningful. I was glad to be alive, living that rare moment.

And others slept, or engaged in idle chatter, or numbed their senses encased in their headphones.

We have allowed ourselves to grow numb, not feeling, not seeing, not living.