the hunt...

I have thought many a time about such things,
about being in the dawn or twilight,
or somewhere in-between,
and how it is I got there.
I don't think people hit their daily strides all at the same time;
mine coming in spurts:
little energy spikes, emotional buzzes, adrenaline rushes,
and then fallen trees, collapsed bridges,
and time becomes a place to be in,
not a barometer for the mood of the moment.
I seem to prefer the gray zones where hues are softened;
not painfully bright,
but with the potential of being so,
or they have run their course and are simmering down;
audibly noted tones being of the same mind under such circumstances,
not all the way on or off.
Moments such as these are accentuated by the days first and last cigarette,
or would be if I smoked,
as sensitivities and sensibilities are built
or disassembled in these places of transition;
bordered absolutes of light or dark,
on or off are muddled with potentials and probabilities,
and definitive exclamations are preachings for another choir,
in another place.