Dawn arrives, either slowly, almost unseen, hiding in the grey clouds, or exploding like a miracle, exposing the darkness.
Most on the earth do not distinguish between different sunrises or sunsets, for that matter. Most stumble, unaware of the gift of a new day. But , what if it’s the last day? Will we be stuffed into a handsome steel blue or grey casket, the silk lining embroidered with the words, ” Going home.” though the activity, the living of this passed flesh life never indicative of what was deemed as ‘home.’ ( the deceased never expressing a view on heaven or hell ) will they say at every funeral “This was a ‘good man or woman’ ? Whose standards will be used, God’s, or mans? Who attending will discern the difference? Who will care, likely, no one . The deceased’s life only mentioned in whispers, as the funeral guests chirp and mumble about the dead, as they get in their cars and go safely home.