I have this thing lately,
where I like to get up early.
(And when I say early, really what I mean is 8:00,
because when you stay up until 2 or 3 am
anything before 10:00 is pretty tedious.)
This is the point in the post where I remind everyone that I am a grad student, miles away from a "real" job, a coffee addict, and single. So, you know, sleeping until 10:00, if need be, is one of the perks.
So, with this recent increase in "early" rises,
I've discovered how much I love the routine that comes with the morning.
I love the whistle of my pink tea pot and the sound the hot water makes when leaving the pot's thin metal walls.
I love the way my backyard looks through my kitchen window,
green and uncertain, as if it is teetering dramatically on the edge of Spring.
I love Marlo's reluctance to leave my bed,
and my reluctance to do the same.
I love sitting alone in a quiet house,
wondering if the day that lies ahead will be one worth writing about at its end.
It's a bit like that very long, deep breath that one takes before embarking upon something a bit overwhelming.
And right now,
I'll take as many of those deep breaths as I can get.
Yes. I like mornings.
Very, very much.