I'm a little tired, with each coming morning and every decent of the sun. As the sky turn a slow orange to yellowish hue to finally clear blue sky. Sometimes covered with a mix match of clouds, thick sometime like cotton candy that will make a child cry out in sweet induced joy, some time it is not but a wisp of smoke like some dream lost in the steam of lost stream where the invisible crush object of all that was lost flow along with this wisp of smoke. Continuing on as it reaches it's zenith where its great blaze its great radiance rain down upon all. Where some covers, while others reach out their all for it. Then it recedes slowly to the west grabbing with it the blue and the light, leaving behind a trail of yellowish orange tendrils like tentacles crawling and snaking across the vast sky.
I stand here now at this height looking at this dull yet magnificent and unbelievable sight. Am I still tired and sick of this. I think to myself. Maybe I just need a new