When I awake it’s usually from a need to pee. Begrudgingly, I asses the severity of the need… do I really have to leave my cozy covers just yet? Or, can I roll over, pull the quilt up around my neck to keep out any wisps of cool air, and drift back into dream for an episode longer?
Sometimes, I peek out from my covers to quickly assess the time of morning, noting how far the shadows have crept on the ridge behind my bedroom’s windows. Some mornings I can sleep all the way to the 10 hour mark since I fell asleep the night before. Other mornings, I’m wide awake after 5 or 6 hours of sometimes fretful sleep. I prefer the former, but at the same time, I regret the loss of part of a day once I’m actually out of bed. I do not “hop out of bed” upon waking. Never have I been one of those types of people nor wanted to be. I find “those types” rather disdainful actually. Well, in the context of thinking I should happily join them. In fact, more than once in my life, I’ve made a point of letting a boyfriend know not to ever expect that of me. It’s just not who I am. Instead, upon waking, I prefer to acclimate to my new day. A lot of thought goes into beginning a new day. That is, if I’m afforded that particular luxury. I detest waking up and immediately realizing that I must get right up, and hurriedly rush somewhere. I have made it a point to never make early morning appointments if it can be avoided. In fact, early afternoon is my preference if I must interact with the outside world. In this same vein, I also detest intrusive and garish alarm clocks. Such an assault on my person!
When I was growing up, living at home, the rigid and heartless routines of my home grated against my being. Weekday mornings as a teen, I had to wake early (by my alarm, followed by my mother’s nagging) to prepare for going to school… fix myself a bowl of cereal, brush my teeth, get dressed, get in my mother’s car and watch out the window as she drove me along the curvy, wooded road to the back side of the school a mile away – because that was more convenient for her than driving to the student drop off area at the front of the high school. The back of the school’s property was more “on her way” to work. She’d let me out back where the athletic fields were, across the street from the school grounds, at the base of a big hill. I would always feel self conscious as I trudged up that hill toward the classroom buildings, passing the other teenagers that were arriving in their own cars with friends on board, parking on both sides of that side road. They always seemed happy… noisily chattering amongst themselves, as I quietly trudged on by. Sometimes, I would see a classmate, like Vic or Linda maybe, and without thinking, was acutely aware how my life was worlds away from the ones they seemed to live in. It was many decades later before I finally began to fully realize the isolation my mother imposed upon me and, consequently, the effects it had – and still has – on my psyche’. It was a very long time before I began to understand all the ways my life differed from those who grew up around me… This subject could birth volumes and volumes. But, I digress…
I assess many things looking out my uncovered bedroom windows from my bed upon waking besides the shadow’s sun-dial clues. I actually test the accuracy of my clock time guess and am usually pretty accurate – sometimes to the minute. I scan both large windows for movement – first for deer, making their way along some level of the ridge, or lower in the woods, heading in the direction of Hominy Creek. There is a mother with three young that I see regularly and I’m sure her mission is taking her brood to get water. Sometimes they come close to my home, but usually they are higher up. I toss carrots as far as I can from my balcony into the woods for the deer but I know most of them are found and eaten by the rabbits and squirrels. There is a healthy population of rabbits that live in a broad thicket area below my windows. It also appears that several families of Cardinals make that same area their home.
These days, if I’ve not woken too early, the first morning’s birds have arrived. I swear that Mourning Doves and Cardinals have noticed me through my home’s uncovered windows and in the mornings, some of them perch in trees right outside my bedroom and watch… and wait… because they have learned how much a creature of routine I am, and that soon, upon waking and moving about, I will come out to replenish the seed feeders, and to toss my offerings of carrots and cranberries into their woods. I make eye contact with them from my bedroom and they seem to understand that our collective new day has begun.
Some mornings, though not usually, I do wake with – or before – dawn, and am actually alright with that! I surprise myself when that happens. I enjoy observing all that daybreak entails – as long as it’s been my own decision to partake, and not forced upon me. I love seeing which birds arrive to the branches outside my windows first… most mornings it is the Mourning Doves. First, a couple will arrive and then gradually they are joined by others taking their places on branches of the same tree closest to my bedroom. Usually, there are 6 or 8 gathered outside my window, puffed up against the morning’s chill by the time I rise. A few times I’ve counted a dozen or more! They are curious birds, the Mourning Doves… large, cumbersome, and flighty. I give them plenty of credit though for always figuring out how best to maneuver themselves to use the feeders suited for smaller birds. I always make a point, wherever I live, to put out at least one feeder that is Mourning Dove friendly. Feeding on flung seed on the ground or porch floor is notably preferred by them.
Time to rise on this second, cloudless, blue sky day of the year 2024. The even number pleases me. Ha!
No resolutions made by me for this New Year… but, instead, a resurfaced effort to put pen to paper in various modes of writing more often than in the past year. Hope to awaken poetry in my soul, as well as just regular fluidity coming forth from within. Welcome, Muse…
Lovely
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