Creamy Day

自分らしく生きる事など何の意味もないような 朝焼け...

A kind of creaminess, light and faintly luscious like a scent of vanilla in the air, thins and swirls. The sky is clear. Sunlight shines on the beige vinyl siding of houses that resemble pieces of white mocha cake. Even as I run on the street, I am steered by a tiny force that makes me run like an astronaut on the moon. I lunge forward, head first, leaving my feet, and soon I find myself floating in a controlled space, with my nerves in tact and limbs moving the way I want them to move. I am parallel to the ground. I slide my left arm over my face to touch the sunlight that gives me life. How graceful and sweet, and completely in control. Once the swirling fumes fill my head, I command my two feet to stand on the ground. And so there I stand, in the middle of an empty side street to contemplate how I would move from this point on, meanwhile, a cat and a plastic spoon hover and swirl amidst a spiral of milky white fume. This is a creamy day.