Sunrise

There's something so invigorating about getting up at sunrise. The world, normally so busy and bright, is quieter. You can actually hear the birds, which is a rarity in the city. Every so often, there's a voice from outside; occasionally a car. You notice these things because they break the otherwise silent world, populated only by birds. In the day, the car sounds and people's voices are so commonplace they become background.

The light coming through the trees is both gentle and promising. The sky looks altogether different, still hazy from overnight but there's a blue underneath. I can tell that it's going to be a nice day, but it's still just the genesis of it, and the day hasn't yet unfolded.

There's also something nice about the slow easiness of the early Sunday morning. I can make tea in silence, and have enough time to drink a cup or two. The Boy trundles off, doing his own thing, and I can contemplate breakfast and tea and the things to come in relative peace and tranquility, knowing the best part of the day is to come.

Yep. There's something so invigorating about getting up at sunrise.

At least, that's what I tell myself.