normal or something

A new day yawns up to life behind thick clouds,
purple, pink and yet paltry,
and offices are already well-lit in plenitude.

Even if I woke up startled
thinking it could have been the end of the world
while I slept in fretful downtime,
I was soon reassured by the little bobbing heads
sitting in their chairs (headphones, calls, etc.)
in front of computers in very smart and sleek offices.
I voyeur at them from my hotel window
as my day tends to get a later start.

It all seems a huge christmas tree in this nondescript
- but spotless clean - suburb of a northern European city
and there is always a white van navigating a turn
in traffic (which is orderly and polite, luteranish).

That can only mean it is all ok.
Trains are working fine this morning
and everyone had their breakfasts
and coffees to go.

Somehow, this energises me,
infuses me with jaded zeal.
I smile. I feel gratitude that I have been through
another night, and there is another installment
of cold wind hitting my face.
Not so bad after all.

I am anxious to join them at streetlevel
be one more of them, with them,
in the rain and chill gusts,
like I was normal or something.