And it's all the mornings we missed for sleep
As the sun glides over our apartment
Contrary to habit, I am a morning person. The quality of my mood throughout the day is proportionate to the time at which I get up. One of my fondest memories of recent times is getting up at 6am to drive to a car boot sale with my mum, where we'd offload bric-a-brac (or rather, she'd offload our unwanted household crap while I wandered around picking up cheap albums and books). But my memory is of standing in the kitchen before leaving, bathed in the iridescent red of that day's sunrise.
They honestly seem like two different worlds to me, the dissonant noise and chatter of day-time (along with the dissonant noise and chatter of night-time) and the sheer tranquility of early morning, a few hours where, blissfully, nothing at all seems to be going on.
Maybe it's a corny sentiment (though a sentiment shared, as it turns out, by the man who took the excellent photo above), but it's a wonderful experience. I feel sharper in every sense, intellectually and emotionally, and it's surprisingly liberating.