Rising early is not normally on my agenda, but it can offer untold rewards. Strong, hot coffee is imperative in my quest to chronicle the sunrise. I rise before dawn when the world is still dark, and before the birds break into song. If I lived on a farm, I would have to wake the rooster and remind him of his job. Together, we would watch the hard, black sky yield to gray, then fade to a pink touched with a golden glow, revealing the mist lifting from the field. A magic-infused breeze touches my coffee mug, and as I inhale, the promise stirs my soul.
Trance-like, I wander to my desk with the day’s music singing in my ear. My muse demands I transcribe her whispered stories. Transmitted through my fingertips to the hard, ebony squiggles etched on the ivory page, I don’t see black or white. I hear the song tinged…
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The Reluctant Poet 
Thank you for sharing. 💕❤💕
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