It's the kind of morning when the sun hasn't come out, but the moon and the stars are gone, leaving the streets washed in a grey blue light, more eerie than even the twilight and dusk, when the sun sets and swallows the world in darkness.
It's the kind of morning that leaves you feeling watched; the darkness blends with the trees and bushes, distorting reality with the shadows.
It's the kind of morning you wish you could be tucked into bed, safe and warm.
You're hardly looking forward at all; you're looking over your shoulder and staring at the ground, praying you don't step on anything that might alert the darkness of your presence.
It's the kind of morning that will be beautiful soon, but until then, it's more mysterious than the dark side of the moon, more eerie than the glossy waters of the Pacific, more silent than the freshly fallen snow in February.
It's that kind of morning.
A morning when anything can happen.
