The Foundry of Dawn

The horizon strikes its anvil, scattering sparks across the bruised sky, a quiet violence of color bleeding into the gray.

Trees stand as cold iron silhouettes, waiting for the warmth to soften their edges, while dew forms like sweat on the breathing earth.

A singular bird casts a shadow on the mist, tracing the invisible currents of the waking world, as the day forges itself from the remnants of the dark.