I meant to get up early today, to walk in the morning fog. I did wake up early, but I couldn't make the next step which involves actually getting out of bed. I thought of the hills obscured by the very lowest clouds and mist, and the last of the cottontails out for one last bite to eat. The chickens would greet me with alert clucking and eager pacing; they are always ready to leave their beds for a morning walk. Our own rabbits are awake and curious, stretching, and sniffing the cool air.
I thought of my friends, the morning ones, who are up and busy already. Jola's read the paper, had her coffee, faced her day. And Anne. Anne is home from the gym, and perhaps she's finished breakfast and has her boys in school. I thought of all of them and how they impress me, with their diligence and steady devotion. By now, even the late risers are driving, planning, working, sorting, cleaning, creating.
It is still foggy, and it is still morning, and I think I will go for a walk. I'll water the seedlings that have sprouted and stretched. I'll bring in the paper, the cat and some flowers. There are appointments to keep and children to teach. And errands to complete. For some reason it is simply a thoughtful, thankful morning, and I am glad I woke up early, though I never left my bed. I did quite bit, if only in my head.