There’s something prominent about the silence of the morning. Hardly a noise in any direction. Lights are dimmed, humans are nonexistent, and for once the world isn’t as needy.
The morning carries an urgency for optimism in its truest form. With coffee brewing in the distance and the sun beginning to peek through the clouds, the early hours feel wide open and opportunistic.
Darkness behind an evening door feels nothing like darkness behind a morning one. Mornings greet you with dew, moistened windows, and the single warm note of a bird chirping somewhere you can’t quite see.
They’re my favorite because they smell like the earth before the day washes it over with its noise and toxins. Mornings feel renewed, never rushed and always still.
Depression doesn’t find me in those early hours. It is nocturnal by nature, preferring shadows and corners and slipping into the mind more easily at night. But morning brings light, a soft compassionate light, and for a moment that is enough.
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