The sun shied back into the woods, partially concealed behind a cloak of mist and residual angular trajectory.
It gave the morning a quintessence of allure and glamour, even including that tinge of melancholy which the Vested feel.
I suppose nostalgia may be a more apt descriptor than melancholy.
Then again, I guess both words are completely right & dexter yet, simulateously, inappropriate.
The sun tests the boundary condition between night and day; everyday it rises.
I test the boundary condition within to see how supple and malleable I be without shattering into infinity just yet.