There
is something elevating about early mornings. Perhaps it is the soft hues of
sunshine or maybe it is the mélange of musical notes created by the chirping
birds or is it just the smell of a fresh day. Everything is a bit dreamy, mellow,
nicely languid, rounded at the edges. The optimism is disproportionate, even a
little unreasonable. Maybe it is hunger, the metaphorical one, the one that is
fuel to the soul.
Gradually
though, as the sun ascends in its course it all starts to turn more real, more
mundane, more gross. Memory of the morning tends to fade into a dream, an
escape. Edges now become sharper,
sometimes quite blunt. There is a rush to reach somewhere, could be nowhere.
The pace just keeps increasing and perhaps so does the distance to our own
self. Everything is so unfinished, so incomplete. And yet I ask myself – do I
need to live another day?
