Mornings are the best.
I get treats. We’ve had some rest.
Is that Mom I hear?
I listened to an author last night speak of writing in the wee morning hours before sunrise.
It was the one time he could get an hour in before the responsibilities of his day job and family made their daily arrival.
I too love early mornings spent with a pad and pencil. Though it took decades for me to come around, and see the light on that subject.
It’s as if my senses are on fire before 5:00 a.m.
I taste extra sweetness in blueberry jam I’m balancing with toast in my left hand, while I scribble a few words with my right.
The smell of brewing french roast, doing double duty as a tease and my muse.
I find my insatiable thirst for that first cup of caffeine grows minute by minute, as does my desire to keep writing.
The quiet, except for gentle rain falling outside my leaking kitchen window washes away worrisome dreams from the night before.
It seems to do the same for the corgis at my feet, drifting back into post breakfast naps as I bend down to scratch their soft and full bellies.
When the hands finally wave 6am to me from the wall clock, I set down my pencil and pad and travel on the bus to my job in the city.
But I discover as I get off at my stop, the day is now looking brighter.
And more beautiful.
Even the colors appear more intense at the farmer’s market before me than they were the night before.
I stop to admire for a minute, and then smile.
Perhaps a pad and pencil in the morning awakens the soul as well.