It’s a European Morning, at least that’s what I call it. I was awake at 5am, the kind of awake that has nothing to do with anxieties or worries over bills or relationships or jobs. It’s the kind of awake that gets you excited, to start the day, to see where the day is going to take you, to see where this life is going to take you. The kind of awake that has to do with a moment of awareness that your life is about to change dramatically at any moment…for the better. It’s a Christmas morning kind of awake at 5am, when the dawn comes at 5:30 and the heat of yesterday has just slightly worn off, allowing the morning it’s cool time before the heat dives in with a passion once again to destroy our pretentions that spring could last for another few months.
I lie in bed and watch the gray sky dimly decorate itself with hues of blue before I decide to get up; sleeping, trying to sleep, is futile.
I go to the store and grab two donuts, then sell out in the Starbucks drive-thru to order my grande non-fat vanilla latte. I say it this time too, Grande not medium; at 6am I order as if no one will know that there are times I relish in the mighty conglomerate of cogs and bolts that turn the machine of consumerism. Grande Non-fat Vanilla Latte! The order oozes off my tongue, almost as sweet as the drink itself. My drink. The drink that defines me in this generation where you define yourself through a ring tone, a coffee order, and a twittering face space book. I take one brief moment and thrive in the definition of myself through a coffee drink.
Home, it’s still warm in the house. I throw open every window, turn on the fans and attempt to pull in the coolish air from outside, try to save on that air conditioning bill that is going to run up this summer like a long distance runner who wants to go farther and faster.
Outside, with coffee and the first donut polished off, I turn on the water to soak my garden, it’s all seeds this year, all of it resting on my hopes that I can grow something from scratch. Excited when I accomplish my goal. The sounds of traffic slowly starts to creep down the street nearby, busy bees waking up so they can bumble off to work on the last day of the week, get that run in before work starts, get in the coffee line before they are late, get that last minute pastry pick up for the office before they plunge into the droning on and on of earning a dollar to keep their families fed in this questionable economy.
Though, perhaps some of them enjoy their jobs, one or two of them, waking up early to get a jump on the day and greet it like a long lost friend. Perhaps there are a few that look at a sunset and ponder the sadness that we only get 365 of those a year. Perhaps there are others like me, on their back porches before the start of the day, pondering, waxing poetically, enjoying, thriving in the first trills of the song birds, the scamper of the tree squirrel, and the rapid flutter of the humming birds’ wings
Perhaps this is just a momentary awake in a sleep deprived hour and this written rambling will be nothing more than an ode to my European morning, the sun on the horizon, and a lame attempt at a journalish entry before the wake of most men that goes down in a forgotten file of my computer oubliette.
Here comes the sun, do do do do do, here comes the sun and I say…it’s alright.