Feb 2 2012

the truth that morning whispers

I stand in my driveway, shivering, camera in hand, trying to capture ever-elusive birds. This is not at all the photo I was trying to record, wings too fast for my cold fingers, but there it is: morning.

I was not standing here to see the sun rise with all its pretty promises, not here to watch midnight blue change to purple and pink, and yet somehow, my camera found its way to dawn just the same.

The most beautiful things are always the ones that find you first, and all you really have to do is be there.

Morning is becoming my favorite time of day. For me, this is a huge shift, having always been a night owl, staying up well past the time that makes sense, always having a hard time letting go of another day. And even now, my bedtime is midnight, I like to be there to watch another day slip through the keyhole and become tomorrow. Which of course, in that split second, becomes today.

A clean slate to dream on, a beginning that is tangled up in the bedsheets of an end. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, all just words that melt together in the space between 12:00 and 12:00:01.

Blink, and a new day is born.

And by sunrise, the hunger sets in, the possibility, the curiosity.

The promise of anything that is everything.

Perhaps it is possible to be a night owl and a morning person all at the same time.

Perhaps I am a midnight to noon person.

There’s a moon in there, somewhere.