Last morning, the sky was a swirl of ash and dusty pink. The air was still, the breeze was warm, and everything felt different. It was as if we lived in a snowglobe wrapped in tie-dyed tissue paper, travelling on our way to work, watching the early morning sunlight come up with the waning of the winter days. The rays would pierce the clouds like a child passing a flashlight through the thin spots in his blanket.

I can only hope for the same today.