Magic of Morning
What I love about my favorite time of day.
I am a morning person, and always have been. As a kid, I was out of bed early, the first one up at sleepovers, always the first one to get going in every phase of life. There is a magic in witnessing the rising sun, when I can get in sync with the universe. An unspoken agreement that it’s time to start with a clean slate, an openness to what the day may bring.
Up here in the north, I love the sound of the loons and all the other birds communicating with one another. I love the softness of the light and relative quiet. I love my coffee, the legitimate hunger of morning—and pretty much every breakfast food there is. I love to meditate in the morning, knowing that I will not be interrupted. I love that everything that happened yesterday–everything I did or did not do–is officially in the past and does not matter anymore. I love that my mind is not yet in full gear, not yet in planning mode- so I can be more open to the present moment. I love that Walt is also a morning person, and that we (usually) enjoy that time together. I love the look on Roscoe’s face when he knows we are starting our day—his little leap of excitement when he gets to go outside and smell everything.
In the summer, I can fully embrace mornings and let them linger. But time is closing in, and there’s soon to be a limit on my morning experience (sorry, teacher friends). Like most precious things, it’s the fleeting quality of morning that allows me to fully view those early hours of each day as a gift. Even with the faster pace and stress of work, I’m anticipating my peaceful walk through the dark, quiet halls—followed by moments of silence in my office —before the rush of kid energy and chaos.
When I’m open to receive them, mercies truly are unfolding, new every morning. A magic that awaits over and over again.