Mornings aren’t what they used to be. I remember rising up and jumping out of bed, ready to face what ever was to come my way in the day. Now, I rise a little slower, basking in the feel of the bedsheets still wrapped around my body, stretching my fingers, my toes then my whole self out to hear the little crackles and pops.
I lie in and think about what the day might bring, and prioritize what needs done first and foremost. This is so I can carve out time to relax before the evening comes, as now I need time to reflect more, to allow my self to transition from the doing to be being again. Oh, where has all that fire and energy gone?
These days, I am grateful for the mornings, for the space between pre-dawn and the heralding of the sun. The slow awakening, the creeping light and the time to sip a quiet cup of coffee. No longer a time to get moving, but a time to contemplate and build expectancy. This slowing down of the pace of life seemed to start only this year. I have always been so driven, so ready to take on anything, so full of verve and vim that I felt catapulted all the way to noon from sunrise. Often by the evening I was still running at half-speed, at the least, and winding down only before the wee hours. No time to appreciate, no time to wonder, to be in awe of that gorgeous light building on the horizon to finally burst into being-ness and illuminate the world. There was time to do it all, time eternal.
Oh, mornings, why did I wait so long to discover your secrets, how the flowers smell so much sweeter when covered in a diamond blanket of morning dew? The morning garden is so full of expectation, the birds chitter and sing as if they are happy to be alive, the air is cool and the plants awaken along with us to greet the day. Nothing is yet hurried or important, the world will wait awhile.