the beast

I've been doing this really great thing lately called "getting-up-earlier-than-everybody-else."  It is in the wee hours of the early morning where the house has this certain stillness that it doesn't have at any other time of day.  Even late at night the house still feels like it is buzzing from the business of the day that is left over.  Laundry may still be tumbling in the dryer, the dish washer may be running, the television is most certainly on-flashing images of things that mean nothing to me or my wife.  Beyond the noise makers, though, the house in the evening still feels like it has electricity running through it.  Like it is trying to settle down and relax but has too many thoughts in its head. 

The mornings are not like this.  I can sit still in the morning and it feels like the world is sitting still with me.  At least my world I've built around myself sits still.  In these moments I can breathe.  I can take my time.  Even though I know that in just an hour or so the day will begin its relentless unwinding, the gears will start to turn faster and the inner workings that make up a day will begin to tick-tock and before I know it there will be traffic and photographs, and paperwork, and time clock and smiling at clients, and the world will once again awake.  It seems that in this moment-the early moments-one can simply pause and watch the beast sleep and realize how beautiful a creature it is while it just lies there softly breathing.