Before the world wakes up

On the days that I have 8 a.m. classes, my alarm goes off at 4:30. Getting out of bed is no Disney fairy tale; ain't no melodious array of enchanted forest creatures warbling along with the growing rays of dawn.

It's me, yawning through the first well-rehearsed steps of preparing coffee, shuffling my slippers across a tiled kitchen floor that wears stains of the past week's cooking battles.

It's me, darkening the door frame that separates living room from kitchen.

It's me, being invited to the window by the unexpected realization that the sky was looking back at me for the first time in months.

4:30 isn't easy, but it has a silent majesty that only a few eyes get to see. I was glad to be one of them today.