Meteor

4 am

No traffic.

Lights are scarce, but the darkness is lifting slightly.

The clouds lighten the sky, a fluffy blanket masking the meteors.

It’s not quite cold enough for breath to turn to vapor,

But hands are still numb.

Hot coffee burns throat, thaws hands, scents the air.

Inside, thoughts turn from the chill, and the sky, and the time.

6 am

Traffic picks up.

The sky turns pink as the clouds scatter to darken other horizons.

Moon fades into the blue, replaced by sister sun.

It’s not quite warm enough to shed layers,

And hands are still numb.

Warm vent air prickles fingers, tangles hair.

Home, thoughts turn from the sky to sleep.

10 am

Back in traffic.

The sky is fully awake now and busy with its own traffic.

The sun is dizzyingly bright overhead,

Thick rays of light impeding vision and squinting eyes,

Numb hands rub them.

Cool breeze streams through the open window, chills face, plays with clothes.

Out, thoughts turn to the day’s work, and try to forget the sky.