Flames lick fake wood never burning— for now. Soon the sun will rise before I do, but not today. Today’s glorious sunrise show is hidden, however, by mists that roll over mountains, meld into Sound, hover over harbor contained in faint trace of land. Come out, Sunshine. Ingest dense moisture cover. Come out, Mountains. Reveal your dimensions, their grand cascade. I know you are there where I should see you from where I’m sitting. * * * Photo by Nick Bolton on Unsplash