So often, when we wake in the morning, we have the impression of a dream that we had during the night. The memory of it fades so quickly. After that we can't recall the details of the dream, no matter how hard we try to remember.
Beyond the pale streaked sky of dawn the dreams of last night lie hidden, tenuous, fading, faint and fragile, refusing to reappear when bidden. Beyond the pale dawn, dreams are stored, closed to the waking, muddled mind, lost or hidden, shrouded in mist except for the fragments you can find. Beyond the pale dawn, dreams which you seek elude you. Moments you would retain hide in the tangles of wakening but beyond the pale sky, the dreams remain.
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