Silence.

The sky lightens as Dawn rises,

Painting the clouds with her rosy fingers.

She sets the stage as the stars wait,

An ever-attentive audience.

As Dawn paints,

The insects start their solos,

Chirping just loud enough to hear.

As the pinks blend with orange,

Birds sing softly,

Harmonizing with the gentle wind that

Ruffles the leaves on the trees they perch in.

Their song is sweet,

And the stars twinkle with joy,

Fading as the light of the stage brightens.

After the solos of the insects

And the sweet melodies of the birds and the wind

Comes the crescendo of voices.

The harp-like plucks of laughter,

The brass and woodwinds blaring their horns

On their way to work.

The flutes squeaks opening windows and doorways to new ideas,

New opportunities,

New lives.

Dawn’s canvas is a hundred shades of blue now,

And the people call her “Day”.

Voices join the chorus of instruments,

Singing a million verses at once,

And yet always saying the same thing.

“I miss you…”

“What time will you be home…”
“Be safe today…”

“I love you.”
A burst of red flares on the horizon

As the song reaches its peak.

Day turns to Dusk as she paints the sky with a new pallet,

One of reds and purples and oranges.

The voices of instruments fade out gently

Until all that’s left is the quiet chirp of insects

Bravely singing the last notes of the performance.

As they fall away,

A black curtain lowers over the stage,

Revealing the stars shining bright

And twinkling in applause.

They stay patiently in their seats,

Silent and still,

Waiting always for the performance to start anew.