It was so hard to write this piece because morning is fleeting; you’ve got to catch it while you can.
It’s nearly impossible to package all that morning is into neat little paragraphs. I tried recreating anecdotes from my childhood about how much I have always loved the morning but it just didn’t seem enough. Then, I wrote verse upon verse of rhyming prose, but it stared back at me, mockingly.
Before I knew it, it was afternoon and I had lost morning altogether.
It’s such a shame because I wanted to tell you about how the morning is a promise that whatever happened yesterday is over; that it bursts with all that is new and reborn.
I wanted to be able to put into words that with morning comes clarity and your most honest of thoughts; that forgiveness is doled out more easily and that possibility breathes heavily.
The arrival of morning is one of life’s few constants and no matter where you live it’s there.
In the city, it provides the only calm before hustle wakes, and in the suburbs it’s when children bounce with endless energy. Out in the country it’s when farmers walk in fields of gold and morning glory live up to their name. On the beach, every morning provides the opportunity to be the one to make the first footprints in the sand.
Even during Autumn, morning fog hangs thick and penetrating to make you appreciate the show that trees put on in the afternoon. And in the winter, morning allows you to witness a canvas of snow before it’s spoiled by tires and gravel.
It’s just you and the sound of your own breath in the morning.
It’s where ambition lives.
By the time I’m content with this post, it’s early evening and I’m just as close to tomorrow morning as I am to the one I missed today.
Tomorrow I’m going to live it instead of trying to articulate how the only thing more beautiful than a sunset is a sunrise.
And be grateful for it.