Early Mornings

Today is my day off for the week. And of course, since that means I can sleep in, I woke up every half hour from 3 A.M. onwards. At five I gave up and walked outside for a little bit.

It's strange how the world is so hushed at that time of the day. Up here, it's light out still, seeing as it's summer and it won't get really dark for a few more weeks when we head into Autumn. Our neighbourhood is a quiet rural street, so we almost never have the sounds of traffic to bother us, especially not in these early hours.

The grass was wet, and the hay field was only making the slightest whispering sounds. Since the grass is so tall there, my feet didn't feel like I was walking on needles while threading my way along the edge of the field.

Birds were singing softly in the trees, and squirrels were bustling about and staring at me with those dark eyes, wondering if I was there to throw rocks at them or to give them food. (No, I do NOT throw rocks at squirrels, ever. I name them and feed them, much to my mother's dismay. Winston and Nutkin are getting rather cheeky.)

I have never been a morning person. I'm a night owl, in every way possible. Usually, if I'm seeing dawn it's because I stayed up until those hours, not because I woke up willingly. I don't think I'll ever really be a morning person, just because I spend the rest of the day exhausted when I wake early.

But just recently, I have finally discovered the wonder of the early morning, when you're the only one around to see it. No noise, no disturbance. Just the soft colours rinsing the world of the grime of yesterday and the shadows of night.

As Anne says, "Tomorrow's always fresh, with no mistakes in it... yet."

Now, the light is a bit stronger, and I think I'm going back to bed for a bit. My feet are damp from the dew, and that makes them a little cold. And besides, it is Sunday and I don't have to get up for hours more.