In Morning Light

I am not typically the first to wake, my slumber usually interrupted by the calls of a restless babe or movements of a work-bound husband. When God was passing out genes, Early Riser must have been fresh out. But, every now and then, I find myself up before the children are awake, as the sky is pulling back her curtains. Magic falls from the folds of those curtains, and in those early hours as the light stretches and reintroduces herself, stealing across the floors and counters, I think that anything might be possible. Anything may come. The day is ours: to grasp in our hands, to cherish, to call our own - come what may.