Mornings. They are written just for me, I know it.
My time. Free time.
Down Time. All about me time.
Mornings call to me, beckon me to slip from the warmth of my bed, toes resting on cool wood floors, shivers run through my body. I’ve learned the luxury of wool socks on cool mornings. Bliss. To the kitchen to start coffee, watch out for the cat. Silly thing, at 16 you would think he would know better than to run under my feet. He’s excited. He likes mornings too. He thinks they’re all about him. Silly boy.
Mornings feed my soul; refresh it. They are my sacred time. Having never been one who hits the ground running, I ease into my mornings. A cup of coffee, sometimes quiet music, but most times, not, just the morning and me, waking slowly, moving slower. I sit...and think....and dream. I am.
Mornings. To me, each morning is like a clean slate or a fresh sheet of paper, full of potential and opportunity. I can make something new and exciting happen today or I can build on the wonder and excitement of mornings past. I can, and if I don’t like how my yesterday went, that’s okay because now, this very moment, begins a brand new morning. A fresh start where I can make my life exactly as I want it to be. Mornings are like that, full of promise and hope for the new day to come. They are all about me.