The Quiet Hour
Darkness slowly begins to give way to light. Slight hues of grey yield to orange while the world is still and quiet. The hour before sunrise has become somewhat of a sacred time. For years I rarely noticed it. I either just plain missed it or during my childhood, when I would get up early to gather horses, I couldn’t quite appreciate it. Now I savor it.
At home I leave the lights off, sip my coffee and tip toe around the house. It is one of the only times I get to myself in my own home. Inevitably the silence is broken as little feet come racing down the hall. The day then moves into motion and the quiet is lost.
In the field it is a time of eternal hope and anticipation. Each new dawn gives a sense of the possible. Frosted ground crunching under foot or a zipper being pulled all become audible in the stillness. Then as fingers begin to tingle in the cold, light spills into the world. Another day begins.