The sunrise erupted at the horizon as I drove to work.
Usually it blinded me, but the clouds hung low,
feet above the roof of my car.
So as the sun rose, it burned up the wisps that got in it's way.
It shone the same kind of pink my sister loved,
when we would mix grenadine into our orange juice as kids.
Delighted at the idea of complicated beverages,
wishing for ones with more ingredients than we had years on this earth.