Image description: Morning sun ray shines through tree branches. A crow flies above.
I woke up early this morning. The light was fading into my eastern-facing bedroom window by 5:00 AM. I was up even before that, mentally busy and reflective. I remembered how, six years ago, I would watch the dawn slowly creep into the house as I listened to my sleeping newborn, soaking in the precious stillness of the time between night and day. The days were lonely and the nights were tiring, but the in-between would always bring a smile to my face. This morning, stirring from the covers, I turned off my alarm, trudged to my closet, and grabbed some running clothes. I could either be awake and horizontal, or awake and on the road. I decided to ditch bed and greet the morning on foot.
There is a great peacefulness in leaving a slumbering house at daybreak. The roads are clear of cars, and the crossing lights turn immediately in my favor, as though my fingers shoot out electricity. The dew glistens on grass, the clouds part away to frame slanted sun rays, and the birds indulge in the day’s first mating songs. As the run progresses, I encounter a handful of other runners. They are smiling, too. We share a secret euphoria. No troubles from the day are being hashed out or replayed; they simply haven’t happened yet. Traversing the streets of a quiet town evokes the euphoria a child feels on a snowy morning; that sense of stillness; that sense that my surroundings are my own private treasure.
Eventually, I glance down at my watch, and realize it is time to head home. The morning begins to ripen. Car doors open and shut and silhouettes are seen in kitchen windows. The neighborhood is waking up. I return, quietly, through the back door. Gently removing my shoes, I softly walk back up the stairs to my daughter’s bedroom. Sitting down at the foot of her bed, I watch her slowly stir from sleep. Her bright green eyes flash open. She takes her warm hand, placing the palm on top of my knee. “Mama! You’re home.”