There is something wrong about walking up in the darkness, getting out of bed before it is properly light. Days should begin with the rising sun, or after, not before. We should begin as the day begins.
The early morning is always the best part of the day, when the world seems fresh and new, as if no other person has walked through it yet. Mornings should also be just emerging from the dawn, still a bit dark as we walk through them, as though we and the morning are starting out on that day’s journey together. There should also be a slight chill to the air, a sharpness, to remind us that we have just escaped the night’s dominion. It will be light, but the darkness will still be there waiting crouched about the shadows, ready to creep back along the edges of the evening to take us under its cloak once the day has fled.
Mornings should be birdsong, and strange swift rustles in the undergrowth as the creatures of the night seek sanctuary from the brightness of the day. Each day should begin with a promise of more to come, even if it is a dull misty raining February morning when it seems spring will never come. Each morning should rise up ready, as we rise up ready, for whatever that day will bring.
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