Mostly out of habit, or perhaps in recognition that it is a core part of my being — even if only in theory and not in practice — I say that I am not a morning person. I’ve always disliked that call to leave the shadows of slumber and venture into the dawning world. There is nothing more jarring than an alarm clock; yet I cannot awake without one when there are schedules to keep. And so, reluctantly, I inhabit the mornings, although frequently the better spirits of my nature take a few more hours to awake to the world.
But, some days, despite my reluctance to stretch before the sun has legs, I am in tune with the slow waking of morning. It is on days like this, when the night shadows of the trees have yet to go to their day retreats, and the warm glow of the sun hits upon the tops of the leaves, that I am glad to have been awake as the night flees and the day comes on.
The streams of lights, and the columns of shadows are my favorite at this time of day.
Even inside, for a few minutes, the morning light casts interesting shadows.
The morning light fades quickly, leaving full light, remarkable in its own self, though not as quiet.