Like all great things, the beginning is small.
Just before dawn, the yesterday’s heat has bled,
Out through the thin blanket that covers us all.
Creatures get out of their bed, eager to be fed,
Or be fed on.
On tippy toes, the sun peaks with sleepy eye
The rays like the arm of a small child,
Reaching on a table just a little too high,
And the peace of night starts to tip to wild.
The day is awake.
Each molecule of air hit by photon streams,
And like a distant melody whose volume grows,
The air begin to dance, looks up and dreams,
Uncaring to the last of darkness’ woes.
The sun is here.
Increasing angle and with warming ground,
Air ascends ever higher in the waning morn,
Pressure drops, air expands, saturation found,
To protect us from burning orb, the Cloud is born.