Ode to a New York Dawn Night dies swiftly in the clear autumn dawn. I watch the sun ignite cold and lipstick red over the buildings in the east; while night hides low near the pavement just outside the burnt-orange glow of the lampposts. Later, when I leave the apartment for work, morning has captured the street and night's last refuge lies in the ground shadow of a low-hanging tree. It dies before I reach my bus. Reach us via e-mail diary@nytimes.com or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter using the hashtag #MetDiary.