Light Breaking Through

Dawn arrives not as arrival but as slow remembering— how shadows learn their names again, how the world exhales gold.

The fog holds everything gently, then releases. A sparrow's call fractures silence into sound, branches suspended between dark and seeing.

Somewhere a window opens. Light pours in like water finding its ancient shape, filling the edges where we've been waiting.

Even the dust learns to dance, suspended and certain, holding its small piece of the sky until the day takes it back.