Belonging - Creative Writing Piece ("Noah")

Part 1: Noah and his Father:
On a quiet morning, majestic to say the least, the sun rose softly, yet unlike all other mornings, on this day, it embraced a pristine crispness, perfectly complementing the balmy accents of this summers dawn. Pastel orange danced with lilac in the sky, and as light gradually highlighted the earth bound greens, the world seemed to hug together, all elements as one, as family, each entwined with the next, as though made for the existence of what was made before and after. Unity in individuality.
Noah did not sleep most nights. He couldn’t stand the silence, however many times police sirens interjected, it nevertheless seemed overly intense at a time of rest. He watched the sunrise art unfold against the clock, yet long after the sun had risen, he would continue to watch and wait. Sometimes he would wait for the sounds of birds, each in their families, waking also, enjoying what he enjoyed, living when he lived, and sometimes for the sound of his mother, unable to stay in a decent slumber, thinking of all the household tasks that lay ahead. Noah did not like to see his mother work so hard most days. “She labors over the silliest of things”, so he told his father. His father just stared, not in a judgmental way, not in a way of expressing agreement, but simply in an acknowledging way, as if to say, “My son has said something, I heard that something, this conversation is now over.”
There weren’t many unscrewed nuts and bolts in Noah’s father’s head. He was a clever man, a journalist in fact, for a reputable newspaper. He was the type to sniff around for events, some called him ‘the bloodhound’, and when he found one, it was almost beautiful the way he dissected and interpreted, investigated and understood every relevant detail of the situation. Noah began to idolize his father after he travelled to Sri Lanka for a story on the ever increasing poverty. He stayed away from Noah for nine months, and all Noah could do was miss him. He...