Morningsong

Morning is God’s way of gently shaking me awake with a smile and saying, “Get up, knothead. You’re not finished yet.”

I love mornings, by God. Always have. And by morning I mean a half hour or so before dawn. It’s the grand reawakening of my little corner of the world. Sunrise, birds, the dew; the works.

Sunrise outside my home in Southern California is always spectacular. Sunrise everywhere is spectacular, amid mountains, deserts and seascapes. Even urban alleys and poor, blighted neighborhoods are washed by a hopeful light at dawn regardless of weather and transitory human circumstance.

A new day. A thing of beauty and grace.

I’ll turn 60 in a few months. Though I’ve missed a few along the way I estimate I have had the thrill of experiencing nearly 20-thousand sunrises so far. I don’t mean to be greedy but I’d sure like to see a few thousand more.

And, isn’t there something extra special about a sunrise on the open road, away from home?

Whether holed up in a cheap motel, staying with family or, best of all, waking up in my RV in some exciting new place, daybreak feels like the Christmas mornings of my childhood: promises of wonder in yet unopened gifts.

I’ll take mornings wherever I find them.

I’m not finished yet.