This morning I woke up at six. On purpose.
(Considering the fact that I’ve been waking up at nine, I’m impressed that instead of falling back asleep I chose to get up.)
So I rolled out of bed, put on my hoodie, and made my way outside. It was cold, the wind was fiercer than I was expecting, and the sky a greyish blue, not yet touched by the sun. I briefly considered going back inside (come on, it was cold), but instead I kept walking until I was out of the driveway. I stopped there, and did a full circle as I looked at my surroundings. On one side, the sky was still grey. On another side, the sky had layers of colour. A strip of purple, pink, orange, yellow, blue. They were soft colours, but expectant of the oncoming day. That was enough to motivate me to stay outside for a while, despite the fact that my nose was so cold it almost fell off.
I walked up the hill, the only sound being my shoes on the gravel, and I took in the stillness of a fresh morning, untouched by busyness, routine, or obligation.
And then the sun appeared. Just a hint, just the smallest line of light came through, and I was in the perfect place to see it.
What I noticed, as I walked along, is how slowly it all happens, yet if you blink you miss it all. I was watching a group of trees. At first, only one tree was golden, and the rest were still tinged with grey, and as the breeze caught them they looked cold. The golden tree, however, looked warm and happy. Happy tree. And then, one by one, the other trees became covered by the same golden hue, glowing together in unison.
As I walked back down to my house, the varying degrees of sun stood out to me. A lot of things were now covered with the sun, but many plants were still waiting patiently to be woken up.
It’s funny how something that happens every morning is so easily missed, even though every morning it must be beautiful.