Mourning::it's a sad thing.

The day, as it where, is broken down into many different little pieces of time; some call these pieces seconds, minutes, and hours while others prefer to simply say today. In my mind, ‘today’ is far too broad and ‘hours and minutes’ seems to be a little too restrictive. I prefer and use dawn, morning, afternoon, late afternoon, evening, night, and bed to describe and schedule my day. I suppose, in a round about way, I could also describe the evolution of a lifetime in the same way. Dreams too. And experiments.

I do most of my living in the balanced part of the day; nothing extreme, rarely staying up when the schedule says bed and even more rarely getting up when the schedule says dawn. As such, dawn has become something of a mystery to me – I’m not sure exactly what it is and so I allow myself to imagine the bits and pieces of dawn.

Generally, the night belongs to punk roarak, mornings to breakfast and newspapers, day time belongs to noise and appointments, and evening belongs to Seinfeld and climbing. The cusp of day belongs to nobody except maybe seagulls, the pre-morning mist that mixes with the all ready over crowded farm air in Abbotsford, and that lazy one eyed cat who is on his eighth life.

Come to think of it, if Dawn was a person it would be felion-ified by that lazy one eyed cat emerging from under the hood of a volvo with only partial tail. Dawn, thankfully, is haggard and scruffy with not much biography left and even less biography to tell. Dawn speeds by before you know it; then you get up.

Most dreams and experiments are only pieces of Dawn. Then you get up.