Morning Is Broken

I am not a morning person.  I would prefer to stay huddled in my blanket cocoon every day until at least noon.  But, alas, kids, job, real life, etc. conspire to drag me from my unconscious state way too early -- each and every day.    I am the kind of person who stays up until the wee hours reading "just one more chapter." And then the next day stumbles out of bed, one eye partially open, reaching for coffee and trying to find the shower before slamming into a wall.

My brother, who lives in a place where the climate is perpetually hot -- even in winter, defends his choice by saying, "we're early people.  We get up early," he says, "before it's hot, and do our stuff."  Humph.  Well, we're not "early people."  Not for nothing.  Even now, when I am heartily sick of snow and seeing the filthy, frozen mounds surrounding the sidewalk and roads makes me want to hurl, the prospect of having to get up early to "do stuff" does not appeal.  I just can't do it.

I drive east in the morning to get to work.  My route skirts a lake and some marshland where I see waterfowl and fishermen, working on those early worms.  Sometimes, I am blessed with a view of trees, stark and black, outlined against morning fog rising from the wetlands just beyond. I often see things on the morning drive that I would never see any other time.  I try to keep these images in my head because  I never seem to have a camera then and there's really no good place to stop and take a photo.  Suffering for art is one thing, dying for it is unacceptable.

The Creative Cue for this week is "morning."  Only one letter more and you have "mourning." Hmmmm.....