a punctuation point of life

Another vapour-coddled morning.
These sentinel blocks of flats stand iconic, slowly shedding their jackets of mist.
All is wet and sound dampened, gravestone grey.
The flats glower, dour and rigid as I descend the hill.
Until.....
A wee prick of light punctures the gloom.
A window.
A punctuation point of a life living its morning routines.
A morning star trapped in a tower-block.
How it irradiates the heart to see it, how it burns off the morning mists of the mind.