Dawn is sometimes not so bright. Sometimes the clouds collect overhead, stunt the light of the sun so that the sky seems only half as high, cut off at the hip by the gray. Strange how the dimness makes everything look farther away. You remember the dream you had as you were waking up from your quiet sleep: the doomsday clock at one before midnight — it had been one before midnight for years, you remember in the life within the dream — the doomsday clock that never rang. You remember bits and pieces, the poetry fluent in desire that you didn't bother to write down, the friends you only met once but it seemed you had known for all your life, the visit to Heaven where everything was white. You remember, right?
And when you woke up, do you remember your own self start sinking in again? All those things you let go of yesterday, ready to be picked up? Once you realize the awake thing, maybe you'll remember this: this is the only day you have, the thing "today". And the dawn will pass like a walk into the city. No time to lose. No time at all. But maybe you'll get it right, this day of days, this hour, this instant — and the sun will brush off the clouds, shine down on you, and give you that wink as you head straightlong to where you were meant to be: "not bad".
