Madrugada

Dawn rises, gentle yet blazing, breaking the embrace of night. An arc of light soars, linking shadow and clarity, opening the fragile passage where day is born. Flashes burst forth, radiant like birdsong scattered in the cool air. They celebrate the awakening of the world, filling space with fresh vibrations. Each hue becomes a promise, each breath a new beginning. The canvas breathes this suspended hour, where the unseen transforms into light. Colors intertwine—greens, golds, pinks, and turquoises—sketching a symphony of hope. All seems to shift into a new brightness, as though life itself were reborn in that first impulse. This is madrugada: the instant where mystery dissolves and hope blossoms in the tender light of morning. Yet is this radiant dawn only a beginning, or the eternal reminder that each day carries within it its own genesis?