Punch Drunk With Morning.

[ladymirth]

There's something heady and intoxicating about breathing deep lungfuls of cool, early morning air. It's flavoured with the scent of dew and a faint tang of salty sea breezes, with a gentle chill tempered by baby rays of sunshine. It makes you want to stand under the pearly grey sky, bare feet sunk in a damp cushion of clover, and let the hazy sunshine rain down on your skin and taste the blue mist upon your tongue. 

And if you stand like that for just a few more minutes, you can see the dirty asbestos roofs dotting the suburban skyline being painted into a tinny shine as the grey sky lightens into a blinding silver, and then fade into a caressing shade of powder blue. The dark tapestry of mango leaves turn green-gold and even echoing cries of crows in the distance feel like a harmonious symphony.

And that, my friends, is what it means to be alive. 

Sedatives rule!