A sad heart aroused him at dawn. Hot coffee was desirable in wait for the sun. Before it rose over the horizon, there would be thoughts to munch along. Thoughts as cold as the early morning,
Wind blew away. Some creaking, some crickets chirping their last, some birds waking, a single crow for some hours and the background silence… Death-like.
Out of bed was cold. The floor was freezing. The coffee was steamy but no longer effective. One thing was needed. One that knew not the care for comfort like it cherished creation—art. He would turn his thoughts into strokes, words and on a page, he could see them, control them and align them.
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