The stillness before the morning

If I have a favorite part of the day it’s the time before the sun rises.

Filled with the anticipation of a day yet to begin.

A moment or two of complete complacentness.

A feeling of calmness before life gets started with all it’s noises, demands, rewards, and whatever else the day may bring. The other people in my life that I couldn’t live without are all up stairs safely in bed.

Used to find two dogs by my feet.

Now it’s just one.

Used to find two cats prowling the house or nestling next to my side or my head.

Now it’s just one.

Contrary to what most probably think I don’t mind the sounds of silence. Really, it’s why I have always been an early riser. When I was a kid it was never quite. 1 bathroom. 6 people. 1 floor. I would get up to watch ESPN when it was just sports highlights. I’d grab my cereal and barely have the volume on and get caught up with my sports.

As a young adult it was getting a little time to myself to write in my journal before I walked to campus or drove into work.

At one point in my life it used to find me busy at school prepping, planning, grading, and preparing for a day in the classroom.

Now I’m posted up in the Den, at the kitchen table, or our white love seat in the front window usually hammering away on the keyboard doing whatever this is.

A hot cup of coffee within arms reach. I sit listening to my daughters snore through the monitors, my wife’s alarm clock, alerting her every 10 minutes that she has 10 less minutes before. Next, the running of bath water, the drain gets pulled, the water rushes through the pipes. Those pipes knock against the wall. Then, her footsteps above me back and forth on the floor to her closet, to her dresser, sometimes a repeat as she gets herself ready for another day in the office. If she only knew she need not worry at all about how she looks. She always looks great. Usually, when she’s not trying.

I enjoy the anticipation of another sun rise. What adventures will transpire while the rest of the world hurries on it’s way. My daughters and I are lucky enough to get to stay home.

Thanks to you my dear.

I’ll never be able to repay you for these last 23 years. Especially these last 4.

All I can think to write about today before you you reach the bottom of the stairs is,

Thanks.

For everything.

Ken

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