I really like that transition time from the undisturbed and limitless dark of night to the birdsong-filled beginning of a new day. But it's getting harder to get this special time to myself. This happens every year as summer approaches and the days get longer but I'm always surprised and a little anxious. I've grown accustomed to the long dark winter nights but now I have to get up at 4:00 a.m. just to experience a little of that magical window of time. As it is, I usually crawl out of bed at 4:30 and that gives me a little more than an hour before I have to take care of the kids and get them off to school.
The rest of the day is filled with sketching, scanning, blog writing, work and family-related chores and, later, more family business as people come home. The best hour of the day is that first one.
I've met a few kindred spirits along the way but luckily, no one else in my house shares this addiction. Thank goodness! I'd feel invaded if anyone else had a claim on my early solitude. Somehow, that's part of the mystique. I'm the captain of my ship and the crew is all below. It's my watch and I contemplate the profound depth of the night and the shallows of my mind. My map of this country is my sketchbook and the small tools I use to walk it's pages. To night then! And dawn! And to going before the mast even if mine is just a little boat with room for one (two would be a squeeze but maybe…?).
