Morning.

I love the morning.

I say this with my eyes not yet fully open of their own accord. I say this not yet ready to talk to anybody who does not understand the sacredness of morning.

I don't wake up feeling on top of the world. In fact, even this morning I groaned internally when I realized it was 7:00am and then 7:09am (which felt like an hour later) ... and my body was not going to go back to sleep easily. I do love sleeping. It is not the act of waking up that I enjoy in the morning. Rather, it is mornings like this one. I cannot see the morning from my bedroom. But now I see it is one of those perfect mornings.

It is Saturday so the world rests easy. The birds wake up first, after the sun. The air is crisp and cold but the sun shines gently promising it will not stay this way. The space between summer and fall is best, especially for mornings. The evenings hold onto the warmth built up in the day, at least here in the Northwest of the States. But somewhere in the night, a chill steals in and mornings crack open. I wish I had a porch swing.

There is nothing quite like wrapping yourself up in a blanket, bringing something hot to drink, and watching the world wake up slowly. You can hear yourself think in those early hours. Nobody has to know that your thoughts are slow or disorganized. Morning is a good back drop to organize yourself. I feel like my soul can breathe then. Nothing is yet expected of me. It is something I can share with the world before society wakes up. Society with its demands and rules, with its expectations and deadlines.

Let that sleep.

I want to wake to stillness.

I want a space to be.

I want to remember who I am before the day starts and I am too quickly reduced to function and reason. I am so much more than just who I have to be. Everyone is so much more than who they have to be to make it through their day. But it is so easy to leave the rest of you out.

I have felt much like I have been knocked out of orbit while the rest of the cosmos spins quietly on; but I have been sustained this far. Only now, in this space, am I beginning to accept this new season of life on its own terms rather than the terms I thought I could set. That, that is freedom. And so I breathe easy as one who is free, but has not yet forgotten the feel of being bound and the weight of shackles.

4 of 10 [a little late in coming]

5:00am
My alarm awakes before me
--as is its habit.
It has no tact
Just that constant war cry,
Like an ambulance or squad car
All lit up with lungs yelling for a race
Or chase.

But the blankets...
They wrap around my limbs
Like stolen goods;
And sleep comes like a thief.
I am just a bystander
yet the alarm holds me
Always in the searchlight.

Hands in the air!
Reaching for the sky
--and my towel.
Apparently, I have aided and abetted
A criminal.
That...and I assaulted an officer of the law
As I hit snooze and, eventually,
OFF.

Now I am to be escorted
Downtown.
I stumble down the stairs as though drunk.
Breath tested for alcohol.
None found.
(But I should brush my teeth anyway.)
That will wait. No time.

I am hurried into a small room
With a bright light
And a loud fan
And told to strip.
A splash of warm water in my face
And a set of clean clothes later...

And I am a responsible citizen again:
Ready to contribute to society.