Day 4

Morning
Crisp winter air
Pulls covers closer to my face
The incessant ringing
Wins the argument.
The busy stone jungle
Is silent in the morning
There are only a few brave souls
Early-eyed coffee drinkers
Morning runners in their skin-tight outfits
Insomniacs giving up their losing battle
The happy cries of a child in the distance.
There are hushed footsteps
This morning
As if the world is still asleep
But not us.
We are awake before the world knows it was sleeping.
The cold air wraps itself around the weary
And holds on tightly
Winking in its brilliance
As they roll over in bed.