There is nothing better than quietly slipping into still morning air that gently glows with anticipation of sunrise. Such was my approach to this day. Stepping carefully to avoid the harsh sound of tennies scuffing on pavement, I glided onto the road leading away from the still-warm blankets of my bed, the tea kettle not yet set upon the stove. Such a glorious, beauteous beginning.
In the silence, every little sound became full and round. The brushing of wool coat sleeves against the body. The cheerful morning conversations of chickadees and the friendly whistling of siskins. Water tinkling in the ditches, as cold water trickled toward the bay, where it would jump over the ledge and slip under the ice. Occasionally, the cold bark of an aspen popped as it warmed in the smolder of the rising sun. I felt like what I am: a gregarious neighbor passing by.
Walking swiftly to and from the stop sign, I saw no signs of my human neighbors, save the hum of passing autos on the highway above. It was a rare, quiet morning in which I felt nature lift me, suspended in peacefulness and the tranquil thoughts of self-reflection. This is the way we were evolved to rise and greet the day. I feel sure of it.