The sun is just breaking over the mountains.

Each building, each tree, each lamppost, seems to spring to life under the playful prodding of the morning light. It is only you and a few brave souls gliding through the streets at this early hour.

Your body sings with the light energy of the morning as yet unblemished by time; this clean slate is tickled by the sound of country music wafting over the radio.  Your favorite song comes on and your crank it up just a little louder, waking up that last sleepy part of yourself as you sing along to the twangy tune.

It is as if the mountains pull you towards them, towards the sun, with their own magnetic force. 

In this moment, you feel like a true New Mexican, as you crank the music louder still, letting the rhythm wash over you like the sun's rays.  Your foot presses the pedal just a little more, revving the engine as if in time to the beat of the music.  You greet this workday as you do every other, with the ritual of cruising down your streets, the streets you've known all your life, the streets that carry you through each hour of your day.

You signal to turn into the parking lot of your work, stopping just short of the mountains, the sun.  You lower your radio--you must keep up appearances of being a Serious Professional, after all.  You turn off the engine and emerge from your car ready to take on the world. 

You could dance through your day, ready for anything.