It is not often that perfect moments happen in the morning. It is, after all, morning. However, yesterday was an exception worth noting.
I alit from the bus last because I had become absorbed in my book and needed time to get my act together. What greeted me was unexpected, and therefore, wholly appreciated.
The cold winter morning with painful shard like snowflakes had transformed into a warmer one, with fluffy flakes swirling around, as if choreographed for a waltz. Even the monstrous buildings, whose often glaring lights cast a horrible pall on the bus terminal, looked perfect in the early, though not sunrise, lights.
I later celebrated the day with milk and cookies.