Best Mornings…

staufs-morning.jpg
No, I didn’t paint this… but maybe I should.

Today I am thinking of Best Mornings…

I am in a mountain vale in Switzerland. The evening before we snowshoed up the mountain, had dinner in a village near the top, then took a 45 minute sled ride back to the bottom. The sky was clear and packed with stars, buffeted by the glowing slopes of night-blue snow. It was an exhilarating evening, but nothing really compared to the dawn.

I woke to the end of the stars. From my bed, I watched the sun come creeping around the side of the mountain. Not over the top, but around the side. I leaned over and cracked open the window to catch some fresh air. It was so silent and calm that I heard the sound of water splashing down the ice fall on the other side of the valley.

I stayed in bed for some time just watching this morning begin. Soon, there was the sound of movement in the house and some time after that I could hear coffee brewing (and then I could smell it).

We are at the beach in South Carolina. The breeze is mild as we pop out from the trees, and as we come out of the dunes we see the sun has already slipped up out of the ocean.

The water is warm. The children are quiet as they take in the sunrise. We stand in place for a moment and let our feet sink into the sand.

There are people walking along the shore. We join them, walking along in that silent shuffle one does when looking for shells between the ebb of muffled waves.

This spell of silence breaks when the sun reaches a certain point in the sky. A dog barks and then people are talking everywhere. We walk back to the place we left our shoes and then slip back through the trees towards breakfast.

I’m having a bagel in Chicago. The shop is a corner place. I couldn’t tell you the name or even where it is now, but I remember the bagel. I remember the bagel and the crush of sleepy-eyed people. I remember the warmth of the shop and the sense of the city all around.

I remember the smell of newsprint and I distinctly remember telling myself I would not forget the name of this shop.

The plane leaves the runway. I’m crushed in the seat and I’m smiling. Behind us, Helios in his golden chariot gives chase but not even the sunrise can catch us as the plane goes up, up into the clouds and we cross time-zones going back into the hours that have passed, traveling almost through to the moment before I woke up.

I am in first class and I have five hours to do nothing but read.

It’s dark and I am running. I like to pretend that coyotes are following me in the woods. I know that they are not, but this is how my mind works when I’m running. I go down, down, down to the river.

There is no one other than me running in the dark. The sky turns purple then pink and then orange. I am miles away now, taking on a big hill. As I come to the top, the sun hits me full across my sweat-soaked face and shirt. My heart bursts with joy and exertion.

I still have a long way to go.

We hear the children giggling in the other room. They’re trying to stay quiet but it’s hard. Without moving, we can look up and see through the blinds that the morning is beautiful. We can smell it in the air coming through the open window.

We stretch, and then we pull up the covers and press our bodies together.

I am in front of the cafe, waiting on the dawn. I know that this is the right table to catch the sun at this time of year. It will rise in 3… 2… 1.


What are your Best Mornings?

6 thoughts on “Best Mornings…

  1. Waking up next to my significant other to the sound of rain gently falling outside our bedroom window. The cat is curled up at the foot of the bed. Our black lab is snoring on the floor alongside my side of the bed. And it’s the weekend – no alarms, no rushing to get anywhere or do anything. So we stay snuggled up and soak it in for a while.

    That’s my most recent best morning. Which was this morning. :-)

  2. Ah! These are wonderful, wonderful! The one that started “It’s dark and I am running” brought tears to my eyes, but I think I actually felt the first sting when I read “I remember the bagel and the crush of sleepy-eyed people …”

    Fantastic and so evocative. Thank you.

    Jenny´s last blog post..She’s Only One, But She Is One

  3. The morning tide is in a tizzy. Gulls are fighting for purchase on a disappearing sand bar. I’m the first to awake. The hotel clings to the side of a cliff, thumbing its nose at each Northern California earthquake. The minutes tick by; the husband still asleep. It is just me, the gulls, the waves, and the climbing sun.

    ———————–

    I’m still groggy from the night before. The room next door is still snoring away, the walls are that thin. Outside, the hotel shuttle is running. Few guests care to climb up and down the small hills or make the less than a quarter of a mile trek to breakfast on foot. By the time I’ve showered and run a comb to tame a snapping mess of wet hair, the neighbors next door have woken up and begun the first round of drinking and arguments. I hurry outside into the heat and humidity, feeling it sink to the very core, and breathe. Just breathe. Costa Rica is beautiful every morning of every day — even with a rum hangover.

    ———————-

    We haven’t slept. We tried; the cold, the shivering, the floating pockets of conversation were too great. Somehow our little mass of humanity survived a frigid autumn night on the side a mountain whose dusty slope would, in a month’s time, become coated with white and tumbling skiers. The music is still going. No one wants to venture from the safety of blankets, jackets, and the rare sleeping bag. Then, silence.

    For the first time since yesterday afternoon there is silence. On the stage below the hands strip away and add speakers, turntables. Gone is the neon, the oversize projector screens, the set pieces. There is only one man and a long table of spinning vinyl disks. He doesn’t wave, doesn’t acknowledge the intrepid few who survived the crisp night.

    One note breaks into the din of sleepy conversation. We look at each other. Say our goodbyes. We break into the small pieces that until last night had never met and will never come together again. My girlfriend and I climb higher up the mountain face to settle upon a pair of rocks and wait.. One note is now many. The music surrounds. No longer a wide open mountain but an experience. False dawn. True dawn. Still he plays beats and treble against one another. Warmth seeps in. Tired, in need off coffee, we silently thank the DJ, Alex Patterson, and move on to join the hoi polloi on a sterile Los Angeles freeway.

  4. I remember walking barefoot onto the porch with a fresh cup of coffee in my hands. It was my second morning as a new mother, and my daughter had just drifted off to sleep. The air was crisp and cool and unusually damp for an early summer morning in Alabama.

    Daddy had come home the day before from his posting across the country to welcome his first grandchild to the world, and he was sitting with Mama on the swing. They smiled, and I sat between them, watching the world lighten surrounded by the scent of coffee and tobacco.

    A. B. England´s last blog post..Star Trek: My Introduction into Science Fiction

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