The Tail of the Night

The last couple of years, I've had trouble adapting to the time change.  Not Springing Forward, which one would think would be more difficult as we anguish over a lost hour.  But Falling Back, where you get that whole extra hour of sweet morning sleep.  I haven't been falling back well.

I'm not quite sure why this is.  Perhaps a middle age thing.  Or perhaps because I don't rely on an alarm to wake me most days.  I just get up when I get up, which...as the days shorten...tends to be right before the crack of dawn.

These last few mornings, I've been fully awake at 5 AM, which...not too long ago...was 6 AM.  This is well before the sun lights the morning sky.   I'll lie there for a bit, which typically involves morning prayers and reflections on the necessities of the coming day.  Then I'll slip out of bed as quietly as I can, endeavoring not to disturb my sleeping wife.  The dog will stir, eager for pets and breakfast and a morning walk.   

Once I've got the coffee on, that is.  After he's eaten, together we step out under a sky dark and speckled with stars, and into a neighborhood still unroused from sleep.  The birds aren't yet singing.  No cars whisk off to work or school.  All is quieter.  Not just the neighborhood, but the city itself, the omnipresent hum of gigatons of wheels on asphalt barely a tiptoe.  Foxes scamper about, occasionally stopping to glare at the silly human and his dog, so rudely intruding on their pre-dawn hunt.

It doesn't feel quite like morning, but like catching the tail of the night.

I rather like getting up early.