Like a good farmer, I wake just before the sun rises. Unfortunately, I’m not a farmer, and I currently live in the Land of the Rising Sun. I wasn’t sure what that meant before I lived here, but now I suspect it has something to do with my being awake at 3:45 am.
Really, it’s not that bad yet. In the winter the sun doesn’t rise until 7, but yesterday was the first day of spring, and the sun got a jump start on welcoming the season. It’s amazing to me how quickly the days change. Already, there’s light at 5:30. The sun is like an excited child on Christmas morning, sneaking out of bed to see all of the wonders. And, like a good parent, I sense that and I am up too to see her reaction. But imagine if Christmas morning came every morning for months. Imagine if that child grew more and more excited and woke earlier and earlier. Frustration would eventually win over and the child would get reprimanded. I’ve tried that. It didn’t work.
Like so many wonders of life, I am intrigued and baffled and amazed by the body’s internal clock. I’ve lived a city life most of my life, so I’m not sure why I wake in time to greet the sun. On the bright side (although it is literally dark), I don’t have to set an alarm. I don’t mind getting up and starting my day because I haven’t been jolted out of a deep sleep by an obnoxious noise. But I am jealous of others who don’t dream of sleeping in until 6 am on the weekends because they’re actually doing it. And some are able to sleep much later than that.
I suppose it is my lot in life to enjoy the first songs of the birds, the slivers of orange and yellow on the horizon, the quiet before the trains begin. There are definitely worse things.