I love everything about the morning. Everything is dark and very quiet. You can hear every creak in the floor boards and can easily listen to the thoughts that are forming in your head. I have been a morning person my whole life, pretty much unable to stay up past sunset and much preferring the dark before sunrise. There is just something so magical for me about mornings. They are full of possibility and clarity. I know I must miss a lot of fun after I am far off in dream land, but mornings have their own type of fun. I think of my grandmother who would wake before the sun each day to have her quiet moments, just her and the symphony of birds singing their hearts out to celebrate the start of a new day in her front yard tree. As a child I would peak my head around the corner and see her sitting in her chair with her cup of coffee milk. A warm, safe and comforting feeling of home would blanket me as I cuddled up next to her. Just the two of us in this moment before day. Then off to the store we would go at 6:15 where we magically had the isles to ourselves while we shopped for the day's food. Just us. Now, as I sit here in the dark of my living room looking out my window to the soft snow falling in the dark moments before day, I am again filled with that soft comforting feeling of being home. I am filled with this peace that morning brings to me. A quiet state of just being that is also full of possibility and hope but at the same time acceptance and gratitude for what is. This is my time to connect with me and what surrounds me. It is my time of day to notice the birds singing or the tinny flakes of snow drifting down from heaven, glistening in the glow of the street lamp before the noise of the day drowns it all out. Morning. It's my time. And I am sure my grandmother is up too somewhere, not missing this perfect time of day.