something about a morning

Sometimes, getting up in the morning is like confronting myself. Confrontation can be a frustrating way to begin a day. These mornings tend to be cool and rainy when the layer of warm air between the wool quilt and the bedsheet is just the right temperature and moisture to keep me cocooned forever.

The other mornings, the sun burns at my face with a juvenile exuberance that makes me cower for I have nothing even near its enthusiasm to spare for the day. Despite a deceptively full calendar, my day is always about moving from one weather-controlled room to another, uninnovative and drab in our civilised way.

For the opposite reasons, nights make me feel better knowing that no one is doing anything particularly important and no time is wasted for not doing anything. The darkness disguises the slippage of time. In our dreams, we can all indulge in a momentary illusion of eternity, however misleading it may be.

Then, the morning will come again. Sometimes, when I'm too sobre for it, I will be reminded that the clock has ticked for a night and here's a chance for redemption.