On Mornings

Morning. The majority of the world's least favorite part of the day. The beginning of things new or on repeat. I used to never like mornings; I was definitely a night-owl.  I've been going to bed earlier, getting up way before the crack of dawn (say, around 5 am). I know, call me crazy, but I've been enjoying the early bus rides into town-45 minutes to read my book-and the stop by the local coffee shop.
Photo: OregonicGirl
I've come to the realization that I love seeing the world wakeup. I sometimes will walk a few blocks watching as people begin to arrive downtown to begin working, stopping by a coffee shop for their double-make-that-a-triple-shot latte, their newspapers, their quick chats with the person they see every day (but never know their name). Mornings used to be something I dreaded-which, on occasion, I still do-but there's something magical about seeing the sunrise everyday. As I finish this post, I look at my clock and realize that it's almost by bedtime. Time to slumber, to rest, and to dream about the magic of sunrises, coffee, and the happy day to come.
Photo: OregonicGirl


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