Morning

Photo: www.edwardtufte.com

Morning light affects me in a special way. The dappled light on my kitchen blind draws my attention. The wind's shadow play, executed with the leaves of the walnut tree.

This morning I am not alone. Peter and the two cats live here now. They lounge on the chairs in the bay window when I come downstairs. All is quiet. It is Sunday. They partying neighbors of last night are snug under their covers. It is our morning of peaceful appreciation.

My age makes me aware I am living my remaining life. There is an exit ahead. Each morning is relished as a beginning, a reminder of what it means to be young in a new life. Now I am not young. My time is precious. Beginning my day properly with exercise, a proper breakfast and some planning is key to my practice. Writing this blog follows and propels me. 

I recall the large portions of of life when mornings were the ends of my night shifts. They were relief. The teasing dawn promised sleep, not a new day. My body ached with conflict as I trudged home to a curtained bedroom. I envied my fellow commuters their new day. Those times make me more appreciative of having mornings as my beginnings. I will not intentionally waste the gift.