The Gods had sprinkled icing sugar on the grass that rested with the frozen dew-dipped dandilions, The moonlight had washed the pale concreate with professonal care, the earth had tangled time and reality together as quitely as the dead, to welcome the clinical warmth of the sun, A piney aroma swifted through the air, condensation coats the windows of children still sleeping, the willow trees swaying slightly as if to ask "is the morning time over?"
