The sun is about to rise, and the brightness over the horizon is memorizing. I wonder if anyone else is witnessing this beautiful natural sight? I stare out the window in awe. The sky is clear except for one lonely cotton candy pink cloud waiting for the sun to fully rise. If the one cloud is pink and the rest of the sky is clear, does that mean it will be a nice day? The saying goes, ‘Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors taking warning.’ Either way, it is a beautiful sight and I will sit here writing the day away, or I hope to be writing most of the day.
I am a morning writer. I love the silence of the early morning when I am alone on the sofa, starting my day with morning pages, three pages written longhand. I start with the sounds I hear these spring mornings. I live outside the city. I say it’s a farm because we are growers, we have greenhouses and grow produce, that’s farming. The birds are awake much earlier than when I get up at five in the morning. I hear them calling out and telling me it’s time to get up and start the day. The early bird gets the worm. I would have to say that the morning is when I get words on the page and let go of the ‘stuff’ clogging up my mind, like, when I will do the laundry, what to cook for dinner, what I have to get done for my day job, and when to feed the cat. These thoughts are just that, thoughts, and they go away as quickly as the cloud passes by in the morning to reveal a clear sky, a blank slate, much like the blank page, ready for the day, ready for the story to unfold, ready for me to write the story.
I am still in my pj’s and housecoat; I am comfortable and witness the ego thinking about working out because that’s what I do for six days a week and on Sunday I take the day off from the gym to enjoy lingering around in bed, move to the sofa and write and then maybe move to my writing room to continue writing. The theme of the morning is writing and I am trying to keep that momentum. If I get up, I will get distracted, so I commit to writing for thirty minutes before I get up for coffee or making a smoothie. The cat can wait for breakfast. He curls up to go back to sleep because he is bored with waiting. I continue to write. The sky is now brighter, and the birds sound louder like they are talking over one another. I imagine they are telling each other where the best spot for worms is this time of morning. I take a sip of the lemon water I prepared when I first got up. Apparently, it’s good to drink room-temperature lemon water first thing when you get to help kick-start the digestion process in the morning. Also helps fight indigestion, heartburn, and bloating. I know I can use less bloating, so I drink lemon water every morning and when we are away, I try to bring a lemon with me to maintain the regiment, but if I don’t, I notice I feel sluggish and realize that the morning routine is something that works for me.
A half hour has passed, and I have written my three pages. I am now ready to get back to my work in progress. I have left my second memoir for a few months. I’m not ready to work on it. I’m consumed by a Christmas story that I am working on. It is taking some time, but I’m getting there one word at a time, and that’s all that matters. I take another glance outside and the sun is up and the day has started. There is more traffic passing by, people going to work or coming from work, and the energy of other people being up is filling the air. It’s time for me to move to my writing room and settle into writing more.
Until Next Time, Keep on Typing…
My Name Is Marion Ann 