I love the sounds of the sleeping world. The darkness before the dawn gives me comfort before the magnificent transition.
Sometimes I am convinced that I’ve had many past lives as a farmer given my internal motivation to start the day while the day has not awoken yet and my taste for buttermilk. Perhaps I romanticize the life, never having experienced it in this life (something I may still want to do some day). The draw is strong.
I imagine eating breakfast in the dark,
starting work before the sun comes up, f
inishing most of the day’s workload by noon,
napping or relaxing mid-day while the sun is beating down on fields,
talking without interruptions from cell phones or televisions,
letting my muscles relax after pushing my body,
having a dinner cultivated by my own hands,
feeding the animals and stroking the horses,
yawning as the sun sets,
returning to my natural rhythm.
For now, I take solace in my mornings alone with the sky and ground. My spirit flutters in the bird songs and fresh breezes. My mind still weaves dreams into the fabric of reality until the sun stains the sky.
The few that cater to the morning wanderers watch the dream dial turn as the masses caffeinate. The clouds fall back with the gossamer images and wish-filled succor of night.
As the buzz begins, I stick addictive electronics in my ears to hide within the music that keeps the dreams revolving.