011. ...that refuses to reach fruition.

(morning thinking)

There's winter in the air. Waiting. Sometimes the sunrise is like a sneeze that refuses to reach fruition. Sitting on the beach this morning I was wishing I'd worn another layer. It creeped so slowly, the sun, toward thin gaps in thick clouds but never really found a way out. Like long legs stretching, searching, reluctant, for the edge of a duvet so the day can start.