There is a crescent moon. Shrouded by a yellow drape and smoke curling upwards and slicing it in pieces. It is twilight out at one-thirty in the morning. The sun will rise soon. It is split between night and morning, coming together. The fjord is black and off up here where I am living the day is approaching. The cycle wraps around the entire building ending up back where it started and it feels like everything hovers at the curb of the world. I am tired and there isn't much else to say. Otherwise, here comes the light. It slowly, the tip hovers at the edge of the window, then awake.