Never get out of bed before noon.

Oh, Charles Bukowski, how I wish I could take your advice. Lately my schedule has been: get up at six to run, spend a day running errands and making social visits, watch Pulp Fiction until one in the morning, decide that going to sleep would be depressing and to that end enlist a friend to come watch the meteor shower with until three, and then do it all again. The reason for this mess is my impending departure towards university, which happens to be in another country, and which is giving me a feeling of looming existential crisis.

Then again, when one gets up early, one gets to see sunrises like this one:

This is how the sun rose over Oxford one morning in 1998, courtesy of National Geographic. While my sunrises are not quite as epic, given my current locale, I overwhelmingly enjoy mornings. The feeling of potential, the feeling of rightness in the world, the silence of a world still asleep... I wrote this two years ago on a particularly memorable lonely dawn.

Good Morning

the stark gray of dawn
so cold anonymous welcoming
(walk the middle of the road)
a yellow line down a gray road over gray fields under gray skies
envelops
the grateful silence - the grateful death
the freedom to throw murky thoughts out
and set them on fire through the morning light
clear-eyed
lie on dew-soaked grass
watch the trees billow in the wind
watch the road
the yellow line that never ends
that goes to everywhere and every soul
watch the figure laying in the clammy grass
and know
that this is what is
and that something will be
and that's not that bad
not bad at all