MORNING HAS BROKEN

I will never, EVER, be a morning person.





I do NOT, repeat, do NOT awake cheerful, happy and ready to jump out of bed.

Almost every morning I float unwillingly through fat, heavy layers of sleep and claw my way into conscientiousness, fighting the almost overwhelming desire to simply sink back into sleep.

I awaken bleary-eyed, sullen, silent and slightly furious at my night being removed. My body aches as I roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom, where I actually begin the slow and painful process of actually gaining perception, keeping my eyes open for more than a quick squint, dragging on clothes, taking my  morning meds.


And part of that laborious process is taking the dogs out IMMEDIATELY for a walk to avoid  their relieving themselves on the carpet.

With this time of year, that small task involves putting on sweatshirts and gloves and dog parkas and leashes and hats and extra big boots.

And going out into biting wind, chill and the overwhelming darkness of country miles and miles removed from any sort of man-made lights.

But then I get outside, and my eyes adjust to the starlight as the dogs begin their daily trek south to sniff out coyotes droppings, chase the morning rabbits, and try to talk me into a longer walk than our usual half mile.

And then I see the heavenly constellations in all their glory.

A fast and fleetingly shooting star burns in and out of sight in a second.

I hear the birds begin their morning calls.

And I witness the slow creep of dawn as it gradually peeks over the eastern horizon.



And gosh by darn it, I am actually glad I am up at this ungodly hour.








But, honestly, it's mainly because I can go then back to bed.