And light is there as a fresh idea. Light brow-furrowed among the morning cloud. Light studded across balconies of occupancy. Thoughts come bright at the speed of light. Thoughts of a cinnamon sky, my feet in dusky socks planting each step against the rubber of my shoe, this texture of the street. Rubber, rubber leaking from the scarred trees as I travel upcountry to the tea plantations a time ago. The leaking, the blood wedding of a Spanish sky after a storm. Thoughts bleed. Thoughts gifted by these lighter mornings. Thought step thought. Step thought step. I am light on my feet, lighter in my mind. I hop across the studs of light, wrap my heart in the dawn's palette of beginnings. All this and I have just turned the corner towards work.