Moment | Amy Loveless

It's funny how tired I am each morning. You'd think my poor brain, sleep deprived though it is, would learn to cope with my crazy schedule, but alas, it did not. I woke late yesterday morning, leaving myself only about ten minutes to dress, eat, and dash to the music building. Unfortunately, my legs refused to dash. In the five minutes it took me to speed-walk from my bedroom in Juniper hall, it occurred to me that I should look up.

The morning air was clear and crisp, and for a moment, all sleepiness was forgotten in the sight I beheld. The sun, which had not yet risen, cast no shadows, but highlighted the clouds on either horizon with a painter's precision and soft detail. The moon, which hung above Juniper, was a grinning cheshire crescent, threatened in the far distance by those purplish clouds, yet firm in her stance to hold the day back as long as possible.

I looked back towards the world below, amazed at the silvery light in this moment between light and dark that so often I missed. For just that moment, everything around me in the world below seemed somewhat ethereal and beautiful. In that moment, my heart murmured it's agreement. I had found peace.

A pang of reality struck through me as I neared the Music building. The half-hour bell had chimed, and my peace was shattered. It exsisted only as a memory, faint and beautiful as the dream it almost was.