Grits and Purls

Spinning yarns about the grit of life

I am a morning person—an early morning person. I treasure those moments while I am awake and the other members of the household are still slumbering away. I can knit or write uninterrupted. I can curl up in my favorite overstuffed chair, cup of coffee or tea beside me and be with myself.

In the summers especially, I can watch the sunrise, as each ray of sun stretches from below the tree line to bring a yellow light to the morning, painting the underside of clouds pink, purple and orange. In the winters, I can see the pristine, untouched landscape of a nighttime snowfall. Or watch new morning snowflakes drift down past the windows. In the springtime, my heart warms to the sounds of birds chirping around the house. It is a sound I never appreciated growing up in the South, because we had birds chirping in the morning all year long. But in Wisconsin, fall and winter are silent, almost, and the sounds of birds in the morning are delightful after so many months of quiet. In the fall I get to see the crystalline artwork of Jack Frost before the sun has erased it from the canvas. Sometimes I even see miraculous sunrises/moonsets.

There is delicious privilege in being one of the few early risers in this world.

Emily Dickinson captures it best:
“I’ll tell you how the sun rose, one ribbon at a time.”

It’s not that I don’t enjoy the magic of a summer twilight when the fireflies are lighting the world, or that I can’t appreciate an afternoon walk on a day when the atmosphere has made that indescribable change from summer heat to fall crispness. I do appreciate those things, but the early morning is special.

It represents a new day, “fresh with no mistakes in it”, as Anne Shirley, the heroine of my youth, would say.

It’s filled with things that you only hear and see in the morning, blooming Goat’s Beard or Morning Glories. Dew drops on blades of grass, frost on window panes.

Often my morning-time reverie is ended by a cry of joy upstairs. “There’s a six in the first position on the clock. We can get up! It’s wake time!” Sometimes my call to action is a cry for a hug and comfort after a bad dream. I love starting my day with a hug from my favorite little girl.

Morning people are a minority, I know. We are often misunderstood. Why not sleep in on those days when the alarm clock doesn’t startle you from the Sandman’s world of dreams and fantasies?

Morning is precious. It is quiet. It is complete. It is fresh and new. To witness the dawning day is to be present in the here and now. The night has passed. The future has not yet come and is not a concern. The morning just is.

I am truly thankful that I am who I am, and that I am able to wiggle my toes in the shimmering dew of dawn.

It is, truly, good morning.

© 2011 Michele Arduengo. All rights reserved.

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