It starts small. A little orange glow ar on the horizon, like embers of a dying flame. Is it real? Or do I imagine it? It is too early for sunrise; perhaps it is only the lights of streetlamps far away, so affected by the weather that the color remains like jack o'lanterns on Halloween.
And then, the sky seems to retreat - only slightly - as the embers stretch in to flames, flexing its muscles to reveal color just the hint of dandelions, bleeding into the sky a dangerous green blood. What just moments before was a faint glow promising a new day has now begun to overtake the darkness with a fervor, an ever growing intensity that will threatens to strike the black from the sky.
The horizon burns red - darker, more intense, as the orange flames shift grow, clawing at the dark night as it desperately tries to put up its last defense - a buffer of blue to preserve the indigo that swallows and embraces the stars.
But those petty diamonds have hidden their faces in fear. The fire continues to swell, flames higher and brighter with each passing moment. No fire could extinguish it now; it's gone for too long, too high. The frigid cloak of night has fallen. All that remains is the illuminative promise of a new day as the sky burns, brightens, and clears.
