The city before 6am.
Frozen. Abandoned. Empty.
If you are up early enough there's not a soul left for miles.
Just a creeping silence that's not even silent; but oddly alive with bird calls and wind whistles.
Oh the conversations you can have with the world before 6am.
The wind stirs it's way past every sleepy shop and household telling it's own haunting stories.
Plays with the trash and the flags on the street and they dance with a heart of their own.
I like this. Being witness to the waking of the world.
Slowly the dawn of grey shrinks back from the oncoming storm of colors; pinks and yellows and oranges gradually growing brighter by the second.
And the people begin to peak their heads out; stretch their little bodies and rev up their little minds and soon the streets overfill with busy beings.
Chatty as they are the bird's voices are trampled over with mundane screeches and screams; and the wind's already wheezing tune is diminished down to a mere annoyance.
Suddenly life fills the street in a different way.
The city before 6am.
Frozen. Abandoned. Empty.
At peace.