Few animated shorts feel as alive and fragile as the real world they mirror. Amanda Forbis and Wendy Tilby’s When the Day Breaks does exactly that — peeling back the ordinary moments of city life to reveal the quiet connections pulsing underneath. It’s no wonder this little Canadian masterpiece has stayed with so many of us for decades.

First released in 1999 by the National Film Board of Canada, When the Day Breaks is one of those shorts that’s impossible to box in. It’s surreal yet grounded, simple yet layered. The film opens with a pig named Ruby making breakfast — when a chain of chance events unfolds after she witnesses the accidental death of a stranger, a chicken named Mr. Emerson. It sounds whimsical on paper: animals living mundane human lives. But what Forbis and Tilby created is much deeper — a bittersweet reminder that tiny encounters can ripple through our days in ways we barely notice.

One thing I love about this film is its technique. They shot live-action footage first, then printed each frame onto photocopy paper and hand-painted them in oils and pencil. The result is this textured, flickering style — as if the characters are half-fading memories stitched into a dream. It feels raw and tactile, like flipping through an old photo album where the edges blur but the feeling stays sharp. (Director Jérémy Clapin once shared how this style changed the way he thought about animation — proof that this short keeps inspiring new waves of filmmakers.)

There’s a beautiful everyday poetry here. A loaf of bread. A trolley bell. A quick look between strangers. In just ten minutes, When the Day Breaks finds meaning in life’s quiet intermissions. It’s not big drama — it’s the soft, invisible threads that bind us to each other. Many who revisit the film see it as a story about how everyone’s lives intersect, even if only for a moment. Watching it, you feel that truth sink in.

It’s also worth mentioning how enduring this short has been. It picked up the Palme d’Or for Best Short Film at Cannes, earned an Oscar nomination, and took home a Special Jury Prize at Annecy. Even now, it’s still celebrated for the quiet way it pushes the medium forward — no need for spectacle or noise, just an open invitation to pause and feel.

For me, When the Day Breaks is a reminder of why I fell in love with animation in the first place. Animation isn’t just about wild fantasy worlds — it can illuminate the small, invisible corners of our real ones. For indie creators, this film is a testament to how you can craft something powerful with simple tools, layered textures, and an honest eye for the everyday. It doesn’t take explosions or high-tech wizardry — just a heartbeat and a brush.

So, if you haven’t seen it (or if it’s been a while), take ten minutes today and sit with When the Day Breaks. Let it remind you that life hums with unnoticed connections — and sometimes, when the day breaks, all it takes is a fleeting encounter to feel part of something bigger.