Mornings

I am always awake at 4:00 am. It must be my witching hour, or the hour I was born, or perhaps, will die. Something tugs me awake at this time and I am most often grateful when I heed the call.

There is a time before dawn when the sky plays tricks on us, making us think it’s lightening. Do not be fooled by this false dawn, but do not discount it. It may just be the herald, but it is beautiful. This is the time to make my way out of the warm cocoon of covers, put on what is called for, quietly take a blanket, and make my way up to the deck of the sailboat.

False dawn fades and darkness wraps around me. Until the dawn softly, slightly, lifts the edge of the horizon to say good morning.

Sheltered in the sailboat’s rigging, I memorize the world around me. Whether anchored in bay or inlet, or docked in harbor. No matter rough seas and ominous skies, or violet sun and glass calm waters reflecting the perfect sky. I am on the water. I am breathing. I am at peace. I rock with the boat, weaving with the push and pull of the ropes that keep us tethered. Moving to the whispers of the moon and earth.

No one is awake. No one expects anything, not even me. There is contentment just in being.

And I send a small, quiet, heartfelt thank you to the universe.

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