I adore the a.m.
The fresh, blank, nothing written yet of it all.
I love that I can survey the day, the deep and thick forest, and pick the point where I'll have a go of things.
Where I'll hurl myself in, cracking branches, tearing bark and pinning my eye with a branch I noticed a second too late.
Where I'll detect a hole in the canopy above where the raindrops can fall through.
Where I'll pass my hands over markers and moss, climbing skyward to calibrate myself.
I live for all the rigours in there, I do.
But I exhale and find peace in the a.m. quietness before it all begins, before it all takes hold.
Since it's the first Monday of a fresh year, this is a most beautiful day.
A day to put myself in the starting blocks and set my eyes on a splinter of space in the forest.
And run to it.