the lost man chronicles
after all .08

When I emerged from my cocoon this morning I was immediately mesmerized by the luscious layers of orange and pink topped by lavender that softly lay upon the horizon over the pinnacles of colonial rooftops. It was especially hypnotic when set against the Fall trees, a resplendent assortment of neatly set rows of yellow, red, green and orange lining each street.

As I walked toward the bus stop a poignant puff of leaves magically swirled up and around and down back to the gutter from which it was riled by the roar of a passing vehicle. It was almost surely only a surreal second or two of observation gleaned from the corner of an eye, but I, I noticed and was respectively charmed.

In fact, I was almost alarmed by the sheer unique beauty of it all. It prompted me to conceive that this might be a disarming way for fate to surprise us with another round of human error, misguided zealotry imposed upon the innocent who simply work their way through the end of life, not expecting it to end in a nightmare.

When we arrived at the point of our commute into the City where the vista becomes a panoramic photo from afar, I took note of the mass of grey nebulae looming over the metropolis. Fortunately, this impending gloom of a soggy day was broken by the frame of the Emperor's pinnacle piercing the huddled clouds, with the dusty sun peeking anxiously overhead.

Thus, in the end, I thought this might turn out to be a rather normal day after all.

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