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Each day begins with the light pulling itself up over the horizon, wobbly arms weak from winter's disuse, sluggish push through thick cloud, lags about houses and hills and, with a spastic flail, fights my thick curtain and flops tired onto the bed beside me. Something about that anemic sag stirs me, eyes open and I think My goodness! It's gotta be ten already! I get up. How that that tired sun wakes me I hardly know but I can't wait for longer days. Mornings are my favourite, watching the shadows change, slow coffee sips - long, black, brackenish sips. But with the dark prevailing as it is I find that sleep is long and dopey. Morning belongs to the night. I am the hibernating bear Anne Morrow Lindbergh speaks of. Getting up is quickly lost in catching up. Coffee slurped back, breakfast downed. This is not the way I function best. But every day minutes of dusk and dawn are leaning back, night compressed. So I wait.
3 Comments:
I feel the same way. Only I could never put it that eloquently. :)
Since we started home schooling, I don't think we've managed to finish our breakfast before 10 a single time on a weekday, thus putting the whole schedule behind. Sigh.
In my ideal world the sun has us leaping with joy at the thought of getting up to be with it. In the real world, it has already lost most of whatever energy it once had by the time it tries to filter through the venetians, and it knows it still has miles to go before it reaches your front door.
Perhaps it thinks we put too many expectations upon it.
Oh Colleen your descriptions are so touching and beautiful - you convey your feelings so beautifully, always. I absolutely loved this, and the photo too.
I think the photo in your previous post, of the little girl with pigtails sitting under the Christmas tree could win an award. Seriously, it's wonderful.
any questions?
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