I have woken up early today.
Earlier than usual. The sun is not out yet.
As I sit to write I realize how much I love mornings. I love the peace, the silence and the stillness – they are all so hard to find during the day.
It is still dark outside. The sun won’t be up for another hour or so. I want this hour to me mine.
I walk on tip-toe, watching my every step. I do not want to disturb anyone.
I want to be a part of the morning, a part of this hour. I want the peace and the stillness and everything around to accept me as one of their own.
But I am not. I am an intruder. This is not my hour.
Everything around me is asleep and extremely still. It feels like they were all awake and alive; they froze into place as soon as I appeared. Nothing moves now.
The darkness makes everything look stealthy. The sun will bring them joy. I love this hour just before the break of dawn.
Only the clock continues to tick loudly, louder than ever. I never notice it during the day. Everything else remains motionless. Even my shadow seems reluctant to follow me.
The pen in my hand drops to the floor. It hits the chair loudly as it falls. I pick it up and hold my breath, looking around nervously.
Is the magic gone? Have I destroyed the peace? I wait silently…
Nothing changes. Nothing moves. Except for me and my unwilling shadow.