The morning fires are lit. That weak little strip of light on the horizon strengthened, and pushed up the darkness of night to the other side of the world. This world is clothed in winter white, a sparkling new day, a new beginning. Every day is a new beginning, full of promise.

Every night is a tired revelation that another day has passed without keeping that promise. Minstrels sing of the dawn, lovers embrace the night; the tired old holy men try to sleep, hoping that a new day will bring the change they’re looking for.

King Day and King Night in an endless fight, one never winning for more than a few hours. Still, the dreamers dream with each new morning. Maybe this day will be profound, maybe this is the day that something great will occur. The morning fires are lit, and for now all is well.