London's Magic

The dauwn is brought forth by the beginning of a new day.
It's light turned gentle by the swirling morning mist.
Everything is cast in soft pastels.
All in pinks and blues, accented and softened by lavenders and yellows.
The sky is made of peaches and cream.
The waters are calm.
Almost a mirror, reflecting everything in a slightly distorted view.
A lone boatman is sailing into the old familiar towers of the city.
A bridge sweeps across the clean pane of water before him.
All is calm.
All is quiet.
Everything is cast in an essence of magical light.
It all looks as if it came from the pages of a children's story book.
The city now waking...
The sun fully risen.
The boatman in his safe bed, sleep finally given.
What was once blurred is now clear.
The magic broken.
It will return another day.
I promise.

A.J. Downey
11-11-1998