Jake gets up at 4:00am and works. He says, "I like mornings," and asks me, "You're still a night owl?" He brags about seeing the perfect moon glow fully over the eastern horizon and dangle Venus, clear and lovely, as if from a string. "I love mornings," he says, and Rob agrees. "They're so quiet."
Today I woke up before the sun and crawled out of bed, choosing the birth of the day over neutralizing another wakeful night with sleep. I said to myself, "I like mornings. I don't want to live my life missing them."
It's overcast so I'll get no peek at the waning moon nor attendant planet, but the light, however diffused, still grows, and the world feels quiet enough for thinking. I'm glad for a new writing app, Momento, even though the tiny typing on an iPhone is hunt and peck. My words are coming back. I believe they've been there right along, circling and watching for me to rise and enjoy them. Just like the sun.
3 comments:
lovely little prose poem.
Thanks, Lara. It was a lovely little prosey time, sitting there on the porch, trying to stay warm in my diva robe and knee-high snow boots.
i have always considered myself a morning person... and now i am starting to HATE mornings. i have got to start waking up with the determination to like them again.
hugs a thousand times over.
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