I slept poorly last night, haunted perhaps by the images on the movie screen, or more likely a prisoner of my own adrenalin. The children moaned in their sleep, and I woke. My husband, ensconced downstairs on the couch with a cold, coughed, and I woke. A dream ended, and I woke up.
So when the alarm sounds at 5:30 this morning, the last thing I want is to get out of bed, tie the running shoes, and pound the sidewalks. I grab the basal thermometer and stuck it in my mouth out of habit, and while it measures, I try to convince myself I don’t need to go, but I know better. And so, when the thermometer beeps, I roll out of bed.
As I cross the room, my shadow startles me as it flits through the dim pool of green cast by the smoke detector. I creep past Christian on the couch and go outside, where a brilliant early morning starscape greets me. When I come home, I’ll go in the back yard, away from the street lights, and enjoy the view. But when I reach the top of the first hill, I realize I don’t have that long. Out of our little valley, already the eastern horizon glows white. And so I forsake the usual maze of a cookie cutter development and jog along the straightest shot to the neighborhood park.
I lie down on the gravel path, hoping no one is watching. The sharp edges of rocks bite into my head, but my attention is fixed on the sky. Orion, Cassiopeia, the seven sisters, shimmering against charcoal gray. Then a thread of fire traces a path from north to south, a split second of beauty that makes my breath catch. Why don’t they last longer? Do they really burn out so quickly?
I drink it all in, the khee khee khee and ch-ch-ch-ch-ch of the insects filling my ears, as dawn comes creeping westward, stealing the stars one by one. And when I rise, pulling fingers through tangled curls to check for gravel, the world has changed. It is full of magic—the best kind of magic, the kind whose inevitability surprises.
Homeward bound, my breaths conform to the pounding of my Asics on the pavement: In-two-three, out-two-three. I cross over the dewy imprint of rabbit tracks on the concrete, and a moment later the rabbit itself startles from its hiding place in the grass and darts across the street.
I arrive home to find the trees in our little creek valley silhouetted against the murky light of predawn. The birds fly silently across the sky, as if positioning themselves for the morning chorus. And sure enough, as the sky visibly brightens, as the last stars wink out, the singing begins.
I could see it. A beautiful thing.
Very beautiful!
I found your link on Seedlings in Stone, and I’m glad it led me to such a poetic post. Beautifully written!
You are an inspiration.
What a picture. A lot of cameras (like ours) would capture nothing.
I must admit that the picture is not mine; it’s from Flickr. But I thought exactly the same thing when I saw it! 🙂
Lovely. And good encouragement to get out of bed early!
ok, I’ll go run already! 🙂
makes me want to go put on my running shoes and look for rabbit tracks …
Can I just read this post three – four times a week and get all the benefits from your early morning run???
Actually, although aerobically I did not benefit, my soul did from your beautiful description.
Hehehe! Wouldn’t it be nice? I’d be in much better shape if I could benefit from my husband’s 3-4 mile runs! LOL
Oh, sounds like a delightful morning! 🙂 Love to glory in God’s creation!
Wow! I love to run on the MKT and notice lots of things. You say it so much better!
stunning, friend. i was there, with you.
“…my breaths conform to the pounding of my Asics on the pavement: In-two-three, out-two-three.”
You are breathing every third step? That’s interesting, I can only breathe on every fourth or second.
You crack me up. 🙂 I will admit that it took a while, but now I put the run in three-four time and take long breaths. I still have to go into 2-4 when I’m going uphill. (Music geek alert!)
I may try that…it never occurred to me in decades of running.
Tried breathing every three steps…could not do it.
Sounds like a beautiful time to be out alone. Your descriptions put me right there. Loved the sounds of what I imagine to be frogs or crickets, or maybe birds. Great job on the prompt.
This is beautiful. I love those early mornings. Quiet and alone with the waking sun.
Lovely, magical. There’s nothing like an early morning run, and a clear sky!
I run before dawn and never thought of lying down to take in that sky – although I have stopped to watch the sun rise over the lake or deer grazing. Such a beautiful, peaceful time. You captured it perfectly.
Stunning. I am allergic to movement ;D bu I ran alongside you here and loved it, even the insects in your ears. Ew! ;D X