In the morning, I find myself, over and over again - or maybe I find myself anew. Maybe, each day, I am a different person, just born out of sleep and dreams. I never tire of the mornings, even when I am tired. Sleep does not come easily for me but mornings do. Possibility is alive and percolating, like a morning cup of coffee. Dark and rich and hot - until the sun rises. I am usually awake then. It is rare that the sun rises before I do. Afterwards, I can sometimes go back to sleep. I have witnessed the dawn of another day and am content. I made it this far….
