At night, down below, the lines of glowing traffic look like silver slugs, gushing their way along the intestines of the lit-up city, slowly, lit-up, slowly. In the morning, the sunrise comes onto the Earth's face. It's creation, not degradation, it's the beginning of a new life, a symbolic entrance to a new day. Warming, encouraging our sleeping souls from hibernation. The pigeons clapping their wings in applause. The skater flipping his board, active in the air, trusting the results of something happening within himself, beneath his feet, which he doesn't totally understand.
We're in a constant state of flux. The flux is in adjusting to and figuring out what we can control and what we must surrender to in this life, and others.
When realized it can be a blessed state.
