I've always loved mornings anyways; my favorite shifts at work are the 7 to 9 days, down in the coffee shop. Not because they're slow, either; they just get my day off to a good start.
Something happened, though. Something became more important than the beauty and glory of being conscious in the birth of a new day, before the rest of creation has had a chance to spoil it. It's the illusion of a perfect world.
I always long for heaven. This is the closest I think I can get, in this life. Just me, the birds, the gentle wafting wind, and the occasional spider, partaking in the majesty of God.
The thing about my 7 to 9, though, is that I'm working. I'm not actually with the sun as it rises. I'm down in my espresso cave - completely enjoying what I'm doing, but longing to be part of the day. You can see in the picture above, I only got to see up to this point in the sunrise. I'm completely and utterly jealous of people who have windows where they work.
But anyways. That's what's on my mind.
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