Looking at Paris in this light, Jean-Luc mourned the passing of time. He sat easily on the park bench with one arm draped over the back and pulled a slow, hard drag from his cigarette. The slightest whisper of morning rose behind the trees and bathed the park in elegant rose-gold dew.
As the hour was still quite early – or was it very late? – he found himself quite alone. He hated solitude; it offered far too much opportunity for introspection. But this brand of solitude here in the pre-dawn stillness was something to which he could easily become accustomed.
In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that symbolically, mythically, mystically, or realistically involves dawn, as a noun or verb. Write about the dawn of time or the time of dawn, or the dawning of an idea. As always, go where the prompt leads.