this morning, for the first time in the history of ever, i persuaded this old bag of bones to get up at the crack of insane for a run before sunrise. the beautiful thing about exercise at this hour is the whole lack of sun, which comes off as lovely as running in perpetual shade.
(i just wish sunrise wouldn't happen so early; we ought maybe to delay it till nine o'clock or so.) (okay, yes, i'm hearing you, i can always move to greenland if i'd like to mush my dogs around the block in the dark at 9am for half the year. that's most helpful.)
the sky was a mélange of smeared clouds and haze and leftover storm, with a hearty chunk of moon suspended just over my shoulder. and the oddest thing is, once i was out there--just my five o'clock self and the pavement and this orbiting lunar rock--i was inexorably happy i'd propped myself up on one elbow instead of pulling the sheets to my chin again in response to that pivotal question: wouldn't it be grand to sleep another ninety minutes? because the answer is sure. but nowhere near as grand as this.
::thinking to myself, less than half-way through, that this was going too fast and that i wish my day's commitments allowed me the flexibility to go longer (note that under all other circumstances and possibly this one as well, the word fast should never show its face in a post about me jogging, unless firmly tethered to the phrase not at all).
::having the sidewalks, the streets, the entire city to myself.
::witnessing the wonder of a brightening sky and thinking that 364 out of 365 days of the year i fully get the siren call of sleep, but on this particular morning? i cannot fathom the draw.
Deconstructed Sketch No. 161
1 hour ago