A lone institute member, working overtime on a committee report,
strays a little too far into the night. The trees outside the
institute begin to buzz with a chorus of birds. Smells from a
nearby bakery begin to waft in through the air-conditioning. The
man or woman shivers apprehensively and looks out the window to
the east. Dawn with her rosy fingers begins to stretch along the
horizon. This is a moment to think. Is dawn just another mystery
worn thin with repetition?
At the Institute of Light, another day begins.