There's a river outside my window.
Not of water, or currents, or smooth rocks
Its a river of lights.
Coming and going.
Red and white.
A two-way flow on the hill at the edge of town.
It's off in the distance, and if you don't pay attention, you might not notice it through the trees.
But if you look close enough you can almost see them.
See their glazed over eyes,
and the way they face-swallow-yawn with no restraints.
See their stained coffee mugs with its warm addiction steaming up their glasses as they try see with their heads tilted back.
It's morning again
And life is calling