board, paper, cloth, threaD
I have always wanted to be a morning person. This is a short ode to mornings, and to early risers.
I have always wanted to be an early bird. To be the sort of person who rises naturally and with grace with the dawn. Who drinks their coffee black while contemplating bird song on the porch.
When I was in college, the best days were always those that began early. On early mornings, I took walks. I made pesto. I read David Copperfield. I claimed those secret times for myself because no one else knew to watch.
But for all my talk of mornings, my favorite time of day was her evening twin… when the sky was purple and the houses began to yawn and stretch.
I love the time of day when the color gets leached out of the sky, turning the world into blues and greys. It’s at that time, just after what the photographers call “The Magic Hour,” that the light changes from gold to pearl and a deep calmness descends.
The time just before your mother comes in to tell you to turn on the light so you won’t “ruin your eyes.” The time of day to lay down your burdens.
And then, when, the light changes again and everything becomes dark, you pull the cord on the lamp.