Am I alone, liking to wake up in the dark?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, quietly, so as not to wake anyone but myself. I am always reassured by my capacity to do that. Then I fumble a bit for my phone and earbuds, which will have tangled with my glasses, carry it all to the kitchen. I do like the sound of the soles of my feet on the floor. I make tea.
To be fair, I think any time before 5 am is unholy. That’s night. Night-waking is only good when it passed unnoticed. But early morning, especially when you’ve allowed yourself the chance to fall asleep and it’s clear you are rested, the best.
It’s light outside now. I guess I just love that feeling of things to come?
Out my window I can see the native alder we just planted. We also have a new incense cedar, but that’s around the corner. I’ll water it, probably bend forward to smell it, a little later. The drops of water are particularly beautiful hanging from its, what, needles? Foliage that is not leaves?
I hope a breeze springs up. Turns out that alders, who do have leaves, pointed oval leaves, twist in the wind like birch and aspen. It’s hard not to imagine ballet. I believe that as nights get longer and colder, the leaves will fall off. Things to come.
I hope you have a good weekend.
36 Responses
Today, Saturday, the weather is chilly and wet outside. I’ve given myself permission to stay in my pjs and bathrobe, made myself a pot of Marsala chai and declared it a pajama day. Hubs is going to the gym but I’m staying on the sofa and reading. Yay to staying in!
@Jane, Rain is such a great reminder to stay inside:).
I wake up most days at 4:30 and I actually love it. Wish it wasn’t going to be 88 degrees here today, but hopefully a real autumn around the corner. I hope you show some photos of your new trees soon.
@KSL, I will work on tree photos! And I admire your true earlybirdiness. I’m kind of an earlybird fan girl only I suppose:).
I’m generally up about 5:30, similarly stealthy in leaving the bed, grabbing glasses and phone on the way, sliding into my Glerup slippers, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind me. . . Loved your description of this. . . Civic election here in Vancouver today, and I’ve been reviewing my worksheet/candidate list. Lots of work to this civic responsibility, but my “feeling of things to come” optimistically imagines our first female mayor here and a strong First Nations (native American/Canadian in your nation’s terms) matriarch for school board. . . .
Your stewardship of, and appreciation for, your trees is inspiring. xo
@Frances Sprout, What an excellent thing to do on a Saturday morning. You have inspired me to at least sort through the piles on my desk, pay my mother’s bills, and be ready to review our ballot this week:).
I like the early morning air, dew. and quiet That said, 4-5 AM is early and really still night time for me too. Your new trees sound great. They will reward you for a long time. Giving them the TLC they need early on is key.
@Susan, You prompted me to go and check on the internet and I’d been under watering! Oh no! They’ve been in the ground a week and a half, I hope it’s not too late. Was doing once/week deep water, and daily sprinkling on the lawn that surrounds the alder, supplemental hosing on the cedar. Having been going by feel, will increase.
Cedars always bring happiness and joy to me
To be awake alone in the morning is something very precious to me (although my 7 am doesn’t seem early compared to you ),everything is peaceful,beautiful and full of promises…
Have a nice weekend
Dottoressa
@dottoressa, Early is different for everyone:). And full of promises, exactly. I’ll go give the cedar your love. xoxox.
Such beautiful observations…
hope your day unfolds with grace.
We are voting today at the municipal polls and its chilly and foggy here…kind of moody weather but nice for a brisk walk in the fallen leaves.
@Leslie Anne Lord, Thank you very much. Enjoy your fall day, and I send you a rousing cheer for your voting!
Thoughts at daybreak.
@BarbG, Yes, exactly that. <3
When I was little, I saw fuschia blossoms as ballerinas. I like your imagery and now I want an incense cedar. Wonder how they do in Idaho?
Happy weekend from the glorious Oregon coast.
@MaryAnne, Reading here, I guess it depends on how much water you get?
And apparently it’s a false cedar. Who knew! Life is complicated:).
http://www.nwplants.com/business/catalog/cal_dec.html
Sheer poetry. You write beautifully. I’m greatly looking forward to reading your book.
@Elizabeth Johnson, It is, isn’t it? Sheer poetry. How does she do that? I know all those words, I use all those words, but. How. Does she do that. [and here I will add] Every time.
That’s “MY” Saturday, except we/I have slightly different trees to listen to up here in Victoria. Garry oak trees with their super crispy leaves to loudly whisper, “Winter’s soon… soonish, sh-sh-sh”. Mariev
@M. WADE, Ah lovely. I was talking to Frances about Garry oaks when she visited. I’ll have to come back to Western Canada and pay attention.
Lisa,
Your mornings remind me of my own.
Somehow, if I fill the animal bowels with water and tend to all the small things that mark the ordinary parts of my life they or I will not disappear.
Luci
@luci, Oh wow, yes, that feeling of being on the edge of disappearing.
Perhaps it was just free association, but this post and MaryAnne’s fushia blossom ballerinas somehow led me to revisit Snugglepot and Cuddlepie online for longer than I care to admit! What a great thing to do on a rainy day and what wonderful memories. Thank you!
@Vicki, I had never heard of those books, so adorable, thank you.
I love your blog and have been reading it for quite some time. I have simply never been able to comment and have it stick. Now I will try something new and we shall see.
This is beautiful . . . . trees, so lovely and image, thank you.
Liz
@Liz Rice-Sosne, So sorry to hear you struggled, so very happy you persisted! Thank you, and nice to meet you<3.
I have been getting up at 5 am since my oldest was born and I shifted from night owl to early riser. My dad always rose at dawn and, until I had kids, I thought he was crazy for that. I came to realize early morning was my best opportunity for time alone—to consume vast amounts of coffee, meditate, read, write, or just sit and think in the utter quiet that prevails at that hour. I love the early morning sounds of the world waking and that dark to light transition. My kids, of course, think I am crazy for that.
@M, Your kids will figure it out soon enough:). I agree, I think I started this habit when mine were young, also as a way to gather myself before going to work.
Yes!! I am a huge fan of the early morning wake up. Like you, I like that anticipation of a full day ahead of me and what it may bring.
Work days are a bit more rushed than my days off but I do like that window of time I have to myself.
On days off, I make a cup of tea, procrastinate with social media and ease into the day.
It’s spectacular outdoor early morning running weather here in Sydney at the moment too.
SSG xxx
@Sydney Shop Girl, I only wish I could run, that would be a spectacular way to see the morning. Sadly, it gives me terrible shin splints. Go you!
I am chiming in, rather less poetically than Lisa, from my present perch at my favorite London travelers’ domicile, the Portobello Hotel in Notting Hill, where I am staying for a long weekend before joining a friend of over sixty years at a VRBO flat in Fulham (a much less posh neighborhood) tomorrow, for a week’s get-together.
The weather in London this weekend has been fabulous, dahlings, sunny but cool (unless you are sweating in a subway, as tourist moi certainly was today), and the early mornings (ie, 6 AM) are what I would call “fresh.” And very conducive to strolls around the area’s many terraced crescents of pristine white Georgian townhouses, with their gleaming closed front doors of blue, red, and yellow, set off by the shiny spiky black railings of their steps and balconies. The streets are quiet, with most cars still in their overnight spaces.
When I set out at 6, heavy curtains are pulled across windows and shades are down, and all is impassive stark silent unmoving (but very elegant) white. But by the time my circuit is done, life is happening in visible basement kitchens, with mums and dads fixing breakfast for children and talking between themselves. By the time I am mounting the steps to my hotel, these same parents and children are spilling out of their shiny front doors, negotiating the front steps with backpacks, briefcases, carry bags, narrow scooters, chirpy voices carrying in the cool morning air. The kids are colorful, the parents monochromatic – and all are blooming as their day in the open air begins.
I go in to breakfast in the hotel parlor, secure in the knowledge that life in all its many facets is truly burgeoning all around, even in intensely urban London Town…
@Victoire, Not remotely less poetically. Such a picture drawn. Thank you. My life in suburban Northern California is markedly enriched this morning.
Another early riser here. My dad was one too and I like that I’ve come to resemble him in this way. A new day holds such promise. And the early morning silence is so peaceful and comforting. Your new trees sound beautiful!
@Maria, They hold such promise of beauty:). I’ve begun to nap in the afternoon like my dad – I like those moments of family heritage.
I usually wake up between 5 and 5:30, and I love the early morning. including that period of silence before the sun rises. So much magic in the peace of the mornings. I wake up bright and cheerful and fade as he day progresses, and how fondly I remember those days of sneaking gently up so as not to wake another. I’ve always treasured my early mornings in the garden as well. My mornings keep me centered.
A very precious time, and like you I love seeing the light come back into the world. Although I must admit early waking is a bit harder up here in the north of Scotland as we shift to the shorter hours of daylight. And this morning I’m looking out on snow fallen overnight…
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