It's quieter in the dark. Most times at least. It's why I prefer it I think. Something about the way the absence of light closes in the sides, only the tube of light from me to my thumbs visible against the black; well, and if I adjust my focus, the frames and lenses of my glasses, apparatus I avoided for so long and use so infrequently that I lose them once to thrice per week. To be fair I lose my keys and wallet this much as well. It's just a piece of my personality. 

Once, I lost the keys to my car. I mean really lost them. I hadn't left my home so they were here somewhere. I remembered having them and then poof. Disappeared. For whatever reason I vaguely remembered being by the trash can. I started walking around the street and cul de sac and found them on top of the neighbors trash can. Which had been dumped. Sitting on top of the lid. Magical really, how they appeared there. 

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The dark feels like mine. It's almost always calming and feels like it exists in a vacuum of sorts. I can begin writing and emerge with the sun, slowly, and all that remains are the words. The hundreds of letter strikes silently sink into the quiet of the morning. Sometimes greatness remains. Sometimes it's just a thought. Sometimes nothing. But sometimes, greatness. 

//

As I follow it deeper though, I know that it's not evening and night dark that  I love and crave, but morning. 

Nighttime dark is full of people and noise, of the slow wind down to the dark I crave. In this regard night owls are no different from morning people. We are just grasping for the same time frame from different sides. My brain starts shutting off as the night arrives, in the morning, it's alive again, humming. While I realize night people likely feel the same way, I can't help but feel the luxury of a full nights sleep makes morning people that much sharper. A self congratulatory observation at best. 

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I remember back in the pandemic (I'm amused at my thinking it's over) when I still got up at 4:17 am. Stealing an extra hour of quiet from the day, sitting in the corner of a vast couch, tapping away. Copying, pasting, finding a picture, posting. Sending. While I of course had and still deal with a lot of the pandemic things, I also look back at that period of quiet consistency and want it back. I mean I want it back but not enough to get up at 4:17 right now. That habit long since passed. 

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It's really not the dark that the morning person and night owl (they have a better name) crave I don't think. It's the quiet time alone. To grind. To create. To train. To live uninterrupted. It's free time, unbound to obligation most days, at worst, shifted away from the "things" we've all decided we must do.  It's the time to do whatever we want. We can say. I will not do that now. This is my time. You shall not infringe. I shall not listen. Unless I choose. 

//

The sun eventually breaks through, signaling that your time is over. Our time is now upon us. It's bright and loud and you squint against it. If you time it just right, you can feel the day change as the sun begins to peek out. A subtle shift from alone to together, or at the least "with". Sometimes I look back on that hour or two as the very best part of the day. Sometimes, if I take the time to be thankful and aware, I can slow things when it's light out and a dark glimmer pokes out from 4 a.m. to remind me that all time holds value, and that if I'm lucky, I can wake up in the dark again tomorrow. 

#hugsandhi5s