It is still dark outside and the clock indicates it is six o’clock. I have been awake for about an hour going through my morning ritual of sipping coffee with chicory enhanced with cream and a bit of sugar. There is something about preparing a tray and taking it to the comfort of the sofa that softly begins the morning.
Then I write in my journal. Nothing fancy, just an inexpensive composition book like we had in grade school. In years past I bought lovely sketchbooks. Well the covers were not lovely however the paper was recycled, felt wonderfully full of cotton so the pen flowed and there were no lines. Thus nothing to inhibit the words or flow. I could break out and draw something. The cost though seemed to be more then my writing each morning required since there are now boxes and boxes of journals accumulated over the years of journal writing each morning. Most are dated however those are the more recent years. All need to be discarded when I pass. Yet perhaps if anyone cared enough to read the journals, they may find the complicated soul they did not really know or perhaps did not give a chance.
The early mornings with my coffee and my journal are reflective in many ways. Clearing the mind for the day ahead. The journals offer a source to resolve issues. Some times anger. Sometimes planning for life’s path. Sometimes just random thinking. It is a source of meditation in a way. It is how I work through the hurts, the words of others, the failings of myself. It is how I bring myself to the challenges of life and work through those. It is where my real self can be exposed without reservations.
I love early mornings when the world has yet to stir yet some are on their way home from a night of work. They seem to do so silently. It is the peace of the morning that offers such a perfect time for writing in a journal. To sip rich, deep, dark coffee.
And then when the birds burst into song. The sun peeps into the windows. The light falls on the rug. Then it is time to move into the day and leave the workings of the mind in the journal laying waiting for the next day on my chair from childhood. It is a civilized way to begin the day and it works for me.
Early mornings are a lovely gift to give oneself. To be grateful first for the new day. To meander through the dreams of the night and to share thoughts on the page faces of the ever so confident friend, the journal.
And the birds begin to sing.