Treasure
It seems I am becoming somewhat of an early morning blogger. Waking up painstakingly early to take Kyle to work is never my ideal morning, but lately, for whatever reason, I have stopped going back to bed, and filled that time instead with writing. It seems that the morning is a good time to write. All of my thoughts are fresh and new, and not as jumbled and full as when I fall asleep. Somehow writing in the morning is easy. I don’t feel stuck or clueless. In fact, in just the 3 mile drive home after I drop Kyle off, my morning thoughts start churning, and I usually have a pretty good idea of what to write about before I even get half way. By the time I am rolling up the windows and cutting the engine, I usually feel like I’m going to explode. I am so ready to put my thoughts into words, but I feel like they will slip away if I don’t hurry, like they have so many times before.
Summer is slowly fading into fall. The cooler mornings like this remind me of my first autumn in Kansas City. I hadn’t found a job yet, but something would often propel me to wake up early. There was no rhyme or reason, and anyone who knows me, even in slight, knows I am not a morning person. I easily sleep till noon when left alone. It is totally out of character for me to choose to get up early. But there I was. I would make a cup of hot tea, and curl up with a blanket and a cigarette on my third story balcony, and watch the world wake up around me. Even though I lived in kind of an older, run down area, and my view wasn’t much more than traffic, a gas station, and the tops of the other buildings around me, it was beautiful. I remember that crisp fall morning air, the warm colors of leaves changing. There is nothing like it. As that weather gets closer again I anticipate things like picnics and laying in the grass looking up at the sky. Things that I never really do, but always think about doing in theory.
If life was like a movie, I’d go lay in the grass and watch the sun creep over the neighboring houses on my street. I would sit in the swing in my front yard, and sing at the top of my lungs about love and other wondrous things. In reality it rained last night. The grass is wet and muddy. And the landlord just cut down the branch in the tree with the swing on it. And I am far too shy to sing outside like I do when alone. Few people have probably ever truly heard me sing like I do when it’s just me. Less than a handful. You know who you are.
Lately I have been finding that my mornings are not long enough. I often run out of time to write long before I run out of things to say. Church this morning. In about two hours. I’m trying to decide if I have enough time to curl back under my covers for another hour or so. But I worry that if I do, the world will forget to wake me till noon. The world is tricky like that. I guess I could set an alarm, but who likes to wake up to the screeching sound of that ugly noise? I much prefer the way Kyle wakes me up when it’s time to take him to work, brushing his fingers through my hair and across my skin. Whispers in my ear of morning time, the birds chirping a good morning song out the window. There is no more beautiful way to have yor dreams so abruptly interrupted as this. I treasure these mornings.
