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These past few mornings have been gorgeous as I watch the sun rise from my window.

Of course everytime I see the beautiful colors that are made, like the deep red on the horizon that gently transitions into a firey orange and then a fleeting green, that can almost be easily ignored, before reaching the dark blue that is almost black left over from the night, I have to think of the reactions to these colors by the impressionists and how these vibrant colors are only possible because of the pollution in the air.

Although when I bring this up to people, like when sitting in an 8am class, I don’t think they share the same inner turmoil interest. The conflict with how beautiful the colors are but yet knowing that their presence represents something wrong in this world.
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