Literature
Four in the Morning
The silence. At four in the morning the world is still. It is cold, almost lifeless. A thin layer of frost covers the ground, soon to turn to mist at sun's first light. Everything is peaceful. So as she walked, aided by the gentle glow of starlight, she found herself dreaming. She was a fox, even at four in the morning, especially at four in the morning, and a fox's dreams are cunning. Yet because the world was at peace so was her mind and her dreams were of calm things. The machinations of the material realm, the ever-present and overbearing worries of day to day life, the tragic necessity of linear thought were merely shadows as she