Beautiful, but not home.

The dawn in Berkeley is so different from the dawn in West Texas. It is blue. What I imagine crulean blue to be. It casts a blue dust on all the buildings. A feeling of glum and apprehenision comes from it. Or is that me? The tall Redwoods pieces the sky, they are spikes of black that surround you. The homeless shuffle awake. Few cars. Only lights are from the coffeeshops that dot the neighborhoods. I could hear faint shouts from a crowd. Ghosts of the Sixties?
Beautiful, but not home.