I talk about the early morning hours a lot. It’s because I love them so much. I’ve finished with the planting of flowers and setting up my porch so I can move in for the coming summer season. I find myself awake two hours before I really HAVE to be awake so I don’t miss the sunrise.
I haven’t always been a morning person. I do tend to get so excited and enthralled by the smallest things that I’ve often just forgone sleep so I can be a part of life. I reveled in the night as much as I do the days. In my youth, when it was just me and my gypsy spirit, I toted the wonders of the late nights with the same gusto. I was a night owl then, but as life happens and I have the kid now, I’ve had to adapt and change a bit and now find myself a creature of the morning.
The birds greet me as I set down my coffee and turn on my computer.
I’m reminded of various sound tracks of mornings I’ve had the opportunity to witness. Different choruses. I’ve written about all of them at great lengths in various journals and used so many of them in stories.
In Italy there was the sound of garbage trucks that accompanied early morning traffic and Italian birds that didn’t seem to mind the din of human life below them.
In the mountains, the pine trees sing songs in the morning breezes. They have a low tone, almost inaudible, the introverted creatures that they are. But if it’s early enough, and you have the patience, you can hear their impressive baritone hum.
By the Oceanside it seems as if the very pulse of a person, the rhythm of life is set by the pace of the crashing waves upon the shores.
And here, in my own little corner of the world, in my backyard in Boise Idaho. The birds catch up on overnight gossip. The air is still. And my dreams are still fresh in my mind. There is no place I have to be, and the only thing I want to do is write. And there is time.