When the inky night leaks away and the morning glories start their swelling, a familiar humming billows up and I stir. This melody of sorts, it was being knit together, all the long night. Like a fairy orchestra, wispy with night dew and moonbeams, it has danced in and around our sleepy heads. The pink and coral sunrise becomes its crescendo and I wake.
I move amongst the early light, quietly padding across the tile, furtively pouring my coffee, plopping myself in front of a glowing screen. I have stolen these hours from myself, the ones that once offered the deepest sleep and the most creative dreams, in order to hone a craft. I come to this space hoping to quell the voices that spin doubt and distrust throughout my head and my heart and my life. Every morning I pray that the opening of my everything will bleed truth upon the page and I will find clarity and redemption once again.
That is the plan, at least.
Want to read more? Then join me as I guest post over at Micha Boyett's blog: Mama Monk.