there’s that wordless wash of stillness in the smallest of the morning hours; that shadowy sense of not-yet today and the wonder of a sleeping world that hangs in the air before the dawn. although i’m not naive enough to think i’m the first to discover this quiet Magic, the fact in no way diminishes the tired satisfaction i feel to experience it for myself, fighting against the pull to return to my snuggle bed and instead choose to own this break of day, this stretch of solitude i so rarely awaken for. perhaps there’s a different sort of life here, an innocent creativity i’ve been missing in my propensity for sleep, and maybe i’ll learn to find words and birth sentences during these fuzzy-edged just-awakes that bring me to new worlds of understanding upon which to start my days, aware that every new daybreak is a singular chance to choose reinvention, choose to own the gleaming world with insatiable eyes and dig too deeply my toes into the paths i trod, wanting nothing more than to glance backward over my poised shoulders and see the imprints of my dancing feet dotting the ground upon which i left my joyful mark.