It was an overcast sky that morning—angry even, as folks are wont to say. Dark clouds filled the heavens; gray enough to command attention, but not gray enough to convince me to go for the panic button. It’s my first dawn weekend in a long time and although the dawn looked ominous, it wasn’t vengeful. I’d even say it was full of sorrow. If anything, the dawn was crying; tears of rain, softly sobbing winds.

It must be difficult to be like Frank, i.e. being a natural disaster. People die because of you, even if you don’t mean anyone or anything harm. But you go ahead and do your thing anyway because it’s your nature. It’s your nature to be unapologetic. You ARE nature after all. Disaster and devastation are part of your repertoire. And certainties like the dawn or the morning are mere spectators standing powerless in the sidewalk, like pedestrians watching a parade. No wonder the dawn cries so.