Writing in my nook in the back of the house
when I notice my screen has turned yellow-pink.
Pulls me out of my story of ancient fates. Shaking my head,
eyes still focused on the yet to be written,
but the screen turns pinker still.
Distracted, I grab my phone and empty mug,
heading out to the kitchen. My living room,
a study in blues, glows purple. The sky
through the front window is fire and rose.
Pulled outside into chilly morning air.
Barefoot, in dew-wet grass, I capture pictures
of trees across the way, leaves silhouetted
against a sky alive and glowing. I come back to my nook
and write not of hourglass sands spiraling,
but of a sunrise the fates wanted me to see.
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