The trees flank you on either side, the car climbs slowly but steadily up the steep incline that is the driveway. A road to your right, pavement cracked and worn with age. A house sitting atop that hill, white paint practically glowing in the morning sun. Sounds of laughter ring through the air, a ball glides flawlessly down the grassy hill, meeting no bump, molehill, or dip. Descending down the slight hill, past another house. It stands still and weary, the tired look of it enough to make your bones ache. The paint is nearly gone, stripped away by time. A dirt road off to your right, nearly invisible in the long-hanging canopy of branches. The smell of pollen so thick you can practically taste it. A dog bark, a low, mournful sound that tells of tragedies, past and future, breaks the morning silence. A flash of black, a daredevil cat dashes in front of the car. It stands looking at you from the opposite roadside, glaring inquisitively as if to say, "Who are you?"
And now there is a break in the trees to the left. A field stretches down to the main road, a temporary home to the morning geese. They wander, aimlessly, low noises of content escaping their beaks. The movement of early morning field workers, muffled by the overshadowing mist. Ripe strawberries calling out to be picked.
Turning on to the main road, watching the field slowly fade back into mist. Other cars start to make an appearence. They drive by slowly, the usual whooshing sound is tired and complacent, the drivers still affected by their early morning start. Slowly, and with caution, the trees disperse. Giving way to more houses, set back against backdrops of glistening, dew coated trees. The sky emerges, pale and bleak-looking. A small mound of orange peaks up groggily, just beyond the horizon. A dull, lackluster pinprick of light is the only lasting reminder of the night. Soon it too will be obscured by the brilliance of day.
Yet another road, and a new sight greets you. A jogger, pacing himself with the rhythm of his iPod. Attempting to overcome the lasting battle against sleep. He is a stranger, and yet he provides the sole solace on the road, his white sneakers tap-tapping comfortably on the road, the glistening black asphalt recently paved. He is the only sign of life on this road, for the other cars have disappeared. The windows of the houses are black, void of life. Even the creatures, the gophers, the birds, have not yet stirred in their nests.
You reach the center of town, and the world seems to grow brighter. The sun is still stuck in hazy half-slumber, but there are other sources of light. There are several cars waiting silently in front of the market. The bells of the door chink together in a random melody. A woman exits, a small bag grasped delicately in her hand. Her feet shuffle forward mindlessly, her brain still stuck in a sleepy stupor. Her lips part slightly, attempting to stifle a yawn. The light of the street lamp above casts her skin with a pale, yellowish tint. The bell from the church comes to life, absently murmurs out the hour. One, two.... six chimes.
Rounding about a corner, you exit the center. A wooden fence railing to your right, blue paint chiselled away in places to reveal tan lumber. The dirt parking lot is encases is empty save two cars, the unlucky workers of the first shift. The open sign above a door to the left flashes lazily, a bright beacon that penetrates through the mist of sleep. The town begins to wake, shifting under foot ever so slightly. A repeated clicking noise can be heard, the sound of a blinker, your blinker. Other cars begin to emerge, winking repeatedly in an effort to mantain position. You turn to the right, into a maze of buildings and parking lots. The once starch white buildings are now tinted slightly, turning with coats of pollen. The car rolls gently into a space, the engine noise dimming until all that can be heard is a quiet whisper. The car stops, just as the rest of the town awakens.