I woke up at the crack of dawn, having slept so heavily that it took a few moments to remember where I was. I turned over, expecting to see him next to me but there was an empty space. I struggled to bring the memory into focus. There was a fight, screaming and a little pushing, par for the course with us. Did he leave on his own or did I make him go. Standing up to go to the bathroom I slipped and looked down to see why. There was a trail of blood on the floor. What the hell happened?!
Dawn is the time of new beginnings, of starting over, of being a better person than you were yesterday. Waking up and seeing the sunrise, promising that today will be a better day than it was before. Dawn is knowing that you can live with no regrets, live recklessly, without the fear of ruining a tomorrow that lives inside your imagination.
When she woke up at dawn, the sun shining bright in her eyes, she was ready for the day. The small girl stepped onto the plush carpet and wiggled her toes into it. She walked out of her room and called for her mom, though she knew she was in the kitchen from the pungent smell of bacon throughout the house.
I went running along the Mekong river bank at dawn. Most people live on the agriculture cycle, even if they are not farmers now. I hear sounds of them waking around 4 am, and in the half light of the dawn, they walk furiously, waving their arms in their form of exercise. The monks in the temple next to my house start their morning chants around 5 am, and at 6 am, they sound the drum in the tower next to the temple, to call the monks for morning rounds and to awaken the neighbors so they can offer food to the monks.
It was chilly outside this morning. The woman gazed upwards at the sky, which was a mix of blues, yellows, and violets, all swirling and mixing together like paint on a pallet. Sarah was bundled in a large, heavy coat, a scarf wrapped around her neck. She pulled it down, breathing out wispy white into the cold air before heading onward down the street, determined to get to the tram on time.
It was still dark outside. He stood from the bed, his wife awakening and clutching at his sleeve, pleading for him to come back to bed. He shook his head silently, writing something down on a sheet of paper before dressing himself and closing the front door, saddling up his horse and riding through the slowly-lightening dawn.
The dawn starts out the same for everyone. We realize suddenly that we’re awake. some of us aren’t sure if we’re awake, constantly living in a dream world and unaware of consequences.
It was chilly outside this morning. The woman gazed upwards at the sky, which was a mix of blues, yellows, and violets, all swirling together like paint on a pallet. Sarah was bundled in a large, heavy coat, a scarf wrapped around her neck. She pulled it down, breathing out wispy white into the cold air before heading onward down the street, determined to get to the tram on time.
great morning, colors in the sky, one of my favorite times of day.
nobody is awake. you have it all to yourself. like a special piece of day all just for you. And the truth is that anyone can have it, but not many take the opportunity to grab it. So its yours, and rightfully so. The morning brings adventure and time to those who want it.
The light streaming in the windows, bouncing off the floor, gave the whole room a golden feeling. She rolled over and looked at him, sleeping peacefully, snoring slightly. She teared up, thinking about all of the ways he made her feel content with life.
Ebony fooled herself into believing that things matter. She was caught up in the internal tornado of analysis. It matters that I failed my exams, it matters that my money is gone, that my brother lied to me about having cancer. It matters that he might or might not love me.
She tied herself to these piers as if they were the foundations of her life, as if trying to find a way to steady her fragile existence against what is to come. And what was that? The never-ending rise and fall of the ocean, the impenetrable flow of life. Thats what.
The truth is we are always beginning again, each day a new dawn. We are not what we were. We are where we are; our bodies eternally shedding our skin and replacing each of its cells in relentless renewal. Because we are supposed to shuffle off the past and just be who we are. Now.
As the Dawn spread across the sky, like a paint flowing across canvas, Cassie and Manuela laid down on the plaid picnic blanket. Grass tingled at their feet as hands clutched the other’s, soft giggle escaping from their lips. They locked eyes, and Cassie pushed her hair behind her ear nervously, the giggle becoming much softer. Manuela’s eyes widened, and the smile that was spread across her face slightly contracted. There was a moment of stillness, and then, in their peripheral vision, the sun rose.
It always felt like the world was ending. The terror ripped through my body, shoving its dirty fingers down my throat, clutching my lungs, and scraping at my knotted stomach. I was a mess of tears, gasping, and crumbling in on myself to keep from exploding everywhere at once. I tried to wish it away; I tried to explain it away; but relief never game easy.
“It’s just another panic attack,” I tried to reason with myself. I needed to remember my breathing exercises, I had to breathe, remember to breathe. But how do you breathe when your whole universe is caving just under the surface of your skin?
“It’s just another panic attack. Everything will be okay…” I caught my breath for just a moment, “right?”
Wrong. I was hurtled again into airless torment. Nothing was okay, nothing was right, it was all backwards and upside down, tangled, twisted, and hopeless. My world was ending, this was it. The attacks could last for just minutes, but sometimes hours. Grief poured from my eyes, and my white tipped fingers held as tight as they could around my stomach, willing myself to stay in one piece.
Squeezing my head between my desperate hands I held my breath. I needed to breathe, I just had to remember how to breathe. Yet there were so many prickly, needle-like thoughts jabbing themselves into any sense of reason I could muster. My mind was screaming for respite, I gasped, and coughed, and gasped again, clutching fist-fulls of hair, grabbing for anything that might stabilize me enough to break free.
My lungs stretched out once more, reaching for oxygen, finally being rewarded with precious relief. The numbing buzz of fright in my head slowly quieted. A few more deep breaths and the fog had nearly gone.
I laid back on my bed, just breathing, thankful for the silence. The things I would never know, never control, never understand seemed more distant and intangible. I could feel the soft fabric of my comforter, hear the chirping birds waking in their nests, see the specks of dust floating across the rising rays of sun through the window.
The world was still moving.
As if nothing ever happened, the dawn rose again. And so would I.
It was the dawn of a new day. The sun rose sleepily. The world arose from it’s slumber still moist from the shinning dew. The slippery earth felt young. The spider slept through the sun’s rise. It didn’t help to get up with the birdsongs, better to wait for the flys of mid morning.
My sheets are hot and wrinkled under the drizzles of sweat sliding off my sides. I sit up with a start and feel that the fever has abated. The shakes have left my hands, and my vision has returned to normal. I breath in deep and almost cry. I lived to see another day. Behind me, rays of sunshine peak over the horizon on what I thought was my last day.
I couldn’t go to sleep, and by the time dawn crept in through the window on all fours and settled its warm, golden body against the frame of the bed, I was sitting up on the mattress with my head rolled back, my eyes scanning the specks of remaining color in the chipping plaster of the ceiling. My wife snored beside me, the soft rumblings of her breath reminding me of the rise and fall of an oceanic wave surging with salt and new life.
When dawn came it brought dread. The discomfort started around dinner time on Sunday night and by the time morning rolled around the thought of the day to come left her feeling like her gerbil was on his exorcise ball running full speed but not in his cage, but in her stomach.
That pesky thing that wakes my dogs and I up in the morning. Birds chirping. Dew on the grass. Bright bright skies. Yellow and blue and bright morning with wet grass. And coffee. The smell of coffee, steaming, at dawn.
Morning time, when the day breaks, cool breeze, no ones awake. Sun hasn’t risen, but the moon hasn’t left. shimmers on the lake. I’m never up this early. Haven’t seen the sunset in years. My eyes haven’t adjusted yet.
I woke up at dawn this morning only to realize that is was Saturday. Ugh how could this be? I was running around my home like a crazy person ready to tackle that day ahead at work; only to learn I didn’t have to be there.
There were mornings when she couldn’t wait for it to come, and days when she wished it would never end. Early, when the grass was still wet from the night before, from some kind sweetness given to the world by Nature, she would walk along the path next to the lake, imagining things about the life that was coming her way, or at least that she hoped would come. She thought about the gown she would graduate in; the wedding dress she would wear soon after; the christening cloak that her child would wear; so many things that the first light of day could bring to mind. And on those days when dawn was cloudier and less showy, she would find herself growing somber, more thoughtful and she had to admit to herself, more fearful. What was it about the clouds that gave her these feelings; what made her think that a sunnier morning promised greater things than a cloudy one? Wasn’t dawn just a beginning; just the way life always is? Sometimes lived in sunlight, sometimes not. But always with a dawn to start it.
i am not really a morning person. I never wake up early voluntarily. I always wake up late. I love sleeping in when i have a day off. Other days i am sleepy and disoriented when i am up before dawn to get dressed for school/work. I feel better after my customary cup of morning coffee. in fact i associate the smell of fresh filter coffee with the word dawn. My dad makes the best filter coffee. Back when i was in school, it was his task to make breakfast for the family. I would wake up to delicious smells from the kitchen Crepes, Pancakes, Toast, Omelets, and of course the coffee.
It’s quiet. Not just in the open, but in my head. The rollercoaster of stressful thoughts are still asleep. The air is crisp and clear unmatched by any other time of day. The colors in the sky pastel, seeping their calmness into my body. It will be over soon, the world will wake aware but unknowing of what they have missed. Yes, there is no better time to sit by yourself.
I woke up at the crack of dawn, having slept so heavily that it took a few moments to remember where I was. I turned over, expecting to see him next to me but there was an empty space. I struggled to bring the memory into focus. There was a fight, screaming and a little pushing, par for the course with us. Did he leave on his own or did I make him go. Standing up to go to the bathroom I slipped and looked down to see why. There was a trail of blood on the floor. What the hell happened?!
Dawn is the time of new beginnings, of starting over, of being a better person than you were yesterday. Waking up and seeing the sunrise, promising that today will be a better day than it was before. Dawn is knowing that you can live with no regrets, live recklessly, without the fear of ruining a tomorrow that lives inside your imagination.
Dawn.
Your rays speak a language unknown.
Among the world of technology.
Who really knows of you anymore?
Who basks in your glory
when social media beckons instead?
When she woke up at dawn, the sun shining bright in her eyes, she was ready for the day. The small girl stepped onto the plush carpet and wiggled her toes into it. She walked out of her room and called for her mom, though she knew she was in the kitchen from the pungent smell of bacon throughout the house.
I went running along the Mekong river bank at dawn. Most people live on the agriculture cycle, even if they are not farmers now. I hear sounds of them waking around 4 am, and in the half light of the dawn, they walk furiously, waving their arms in their form of exercise. The monks in the temple next to my house start their morning chants around 5 am, and at 6 am, they sound the drum in the tower next to the temple, to call the monks for morning rounds and to awaken the neighbors so they can offer food to the monks.
It was chilly outside this morning. The woman gazed upwards at the sky, which was a mix of blues, yellows, and violets, all swirling and mixing together like paint on a pallet. Sarah was bundled in a large, heavy coat, a scarf wrapped around her neck. She pulled it down, breathing out wispy white into the cold air before heading onward down the street, determined to get to the tram on time.
It was still dark outside. He stood from the bed, his wife awakening and clutching at his sleeve, pleading for him to come back to bed. He shook his head silently, writing something down on a sheet of paper before dressing himself and closing the front door, saddling up his horse and riding through the slowly-lightening dawn.
The dawn starts out the same for everyone. We realize suddenly that we’re awake. some of us aren’t sure if we’re awake, constantly living in a dream world and unaware of consequences.
A beautiful moment, the best part of the day where anything feels possible
It was chilly outside this morning. The woman gazed upwards at the sky, which was a mix of blues, yellows, and violets, all swirling together like paint on a pallet. Sarah was bundled in a large, heavy coat, a scarf wrapped around her neck. She pulled it down, breathing out wispy white into the cold air before heading onward down the street, determined to get to the tram on time.
great morning, colors in the sky, one of my favorite times of day.
nobody is awake. you have it all to yourself. like a special piece of day all just for you. And the truth is that anyone can have it, but not many take the opportunity to grab it. So its yours, and rightfully so. The morning brings adventure and time to those who want it.
The light streaming in the windows, bouncing off the floor, gave the whole room a golden feeling. She rolled over and looked at him, sleeping peacefully, snoring slightly. She teared up, thinking about all of the ways he made her feel content with life.
Ebony fooled herself into believing that things matter. She was caught up in the internal tornado of analysis. It matters that I failed my exams, it matters that my money is gone, that my brother lied to me about having cancer. It matters that he might or might not love me.
She tied herself to these piers as if they were the foundations of her life, as if trying to find a way to steady her fragile existence against what is to come. And what was that? The never-ending rise and fall of the ocean, the impenetrable flow of life. Thats what.
The truth is we are always beginning again, each day a new dawn. We are not what we were. We are where we are; our bodies eternally shedding our skin and replacing each of its cells in relentless renewal. Because we are supposed to shuffle off the past and just be who we are. Now.
As the Dawn spread across the sky, like a paint flowing across canvas, Cassie and Manuela laid down on the plaid picnic blanket. Grass tingled at their feet as hands clutched the other’s, soft giggle escaping from their lips. They locked eyes, and Cassie pushed her hair behind her ear nervously, the giggle becoming much softer. Manuela’s eyes widened, and the smile that was spread across her face slightly contracted. There was a moment of stillness, and then, in their peripheral vision, the sun rose.
It always felt like the world was ending. The terror ripped through my body, shoving its dirty fingers down my throat, clutching my lungs, and scraping at my knotted stomach. I was a mess of tears, gasping, and crumbling in on myself to keep from exploding everywhere at once. I tried to wish it away; I tried to explain it away; but relief never game easy.
“It’s just another panic attack,” I tried to reason with myself. I needed to remember my breathing exercises, I had to breathe, remember to breathe. But how do you breathe when your whole universe is caving just under the surface of your skin?
“It’s just another panic attack. Everything will be okay…” I caught my breath for just a moment, “right?”
Wrong. I was hurtled again into airless torment. Nothing was okay, nothing was right, it was all backwards and upside down, tangled, twisted, and hopeless. My world was ending, this was it. The attacks could last for just minutes, but sometimes hours. Grief poured from my eyes, and my white tipped fingers held as tight as they could around my stomach, willing myself to stay in one piece.
Squeezing my head between my desperate hands I held my breath. I needed to breathe, I just had to remember how to breathe. Yet there were so many prickly, needle-like thoughts jabbing themselves into any sense of reason I could muster. My mind was screaming for respite, I gasped, and coughed, and gasped again, clutching fist-fulls of hair, grabbing for anything that might stabilize me enough to break free.
My lungs stretched out once more, reaching for oxygen, finally being rewarded with precious relief. The numbing buzz of fright in my head slowly quieted. A few more deep breaths and the fog had nearly gone.
I laid back on my bed, just breathing, thankful for the silence. The things I would never know, never control, never understand seemed more distant and intangible. I could feel the soft fabric of my comforter, hear the chirping birds waking in their nests, see the specks of dust floating across the rising rays of sun through the window.
The world was still moving.
As if nothing ever happened, the dawn rose again. And so would I.
It was the dawn of a new day. The sun rose sleepily. The world arose from it’s slumber still moist from the shinning dew. The slippery earth felt young. The spider slept through the sun’s rise. It didn’t help to get up with the birdsongs, better to wait for the flys of mid morning.
dawn dishsoap is simply amazing. It cuts grease and cleans well………. dont you just love my hair :)
My sheets are hot and wrinkled under the drizzles of sweat sliding off my sides. I sit up with a start and feel that the fever has abated. The shakes have left my hands, and my vision has returned to normal. I breath in deep and almost cry. I lived to see another day. Behind me, rays of sunshine peak over the horizon on what I thought was my last day.
I couldn’t go to sleep, and by the time dawn crept in through the window on all fours and settled its warm, golden body against the frame of the bed, I was sitting up on the mattress with my head rolled back, my eyes scanning the specks of remaining color in the chipping plaster of the ceiling. My wife snored beside me, the soft rumblings of her breath reminding me of the rise and fall of an oceanic wave surging with salt and new life.
When dawn came it brought dread. The discomfort started around dinner time on Sunday night and by the time morning rolled around the thought of the day to come left her feeling like her gerbil was on his exorcise ball running full speed but not in his cage, but in her stomach.
That pesky thing that wakes my dogs and I up in the morning. Birds chirping. Dew on the grass. Bright bright skies. Yellow and blue and bright morning with wet grass. And coffee. The smell of coffee, steaming, at dawn.
Morning time, when the day breaks, cool breeze, no ones awake. Sun hasn’t risen, but the moon hasn’t left. shimmers on the lake. I’m never up this early. Haven’t seen the sunset in years. My eyes haven’t adjusted yet.
dawn, I’m late again.
I woke up at dawn this morning only to realize that is was Saturday. Ugh how could this be? I was running around my home like a crazy person ready to tackle that day ahead at work; only to learn I didn’t have to be there.
There were mornings when she couldn’t wait for it to come, and days when she wished it would never end. Early, when the grass was still wet from the night before, from some kind sweetness given to the world by Nature, she would walk along the path next to the lake, imagining things about the life that was coming her way, or at least that she hoped would come. She thought about the gown she would graduate in; the wedding dress she would wear soon after; the christening cloak that her child would wear; so many things that the first light of day could bring to mind. And on those days when dawn was cloudier and less showy, she would find herself growing somber, more thoughtful and she had to admit to herself, more fearful. What was it about the clouds that gave her these feelings; what made her think that a sunnier morning promised greater things than a cloudy one? Wasn’t dawn just a beginning; just the way life always is? Sometimes lived in sunlight, sometimes not. But always with a dawn to start it.
i am not really a morning person. I never wake up early voluntarily. I always wake up late. I love sleeping in when i have a day off. Other days i am sleepy and disoriented when i am up before dawn to get dressed for school/work. I feel better after my customary cup of morning coffee. in fact i associate the smell of fresh filter coffee with the word dawn. My dad makes the best filter coffee. Back when i was in school, it was his task to make breakfast for the family. I would wake up to delicious smells from the kitchen Crepes, Pancakes, Toast, Omelets, and of course the coffee.
It’s quiet. Not just in the open, but in my head. The rollercoaster of stressful thoughts are still asleep. The air is crisp and clear unmatched by any other time of day. The colors in the sky pastel, seeping their calmness into my body. It will be over soon, the world will wake aware but unknowing of what they have missed. Yes, there is no better time to sit by yourself.