Morning Has Broken

I am anything but a morning person.

I hate getting up in the morning. It's too much of a chore for me.

But, when one has to get up at 9am to be able to teach an 11am dance class that ends with a student telling him, "As usual, all the girls in the dressing room are talking about how good they feel after your class. We really enjoyed it. Your Tuesday morning classes are something we look forward to week after week";

or when he has to get up at 830am to pick up stuff from the grocery, and he finds out that someone had scribbled on the shopping list that he left posted on the fridge door;

or when he gets a call from a friend inviting him for an indulgent Sunday breakfast;

or when he gets up early and accomplishes enough by midday to deserve afternoon cocktails at Red with one of closest friends and confidante, while watching the color of the skies change from blue to orange to gray;

or when he gets up at 7am to be able to get freshest prawns in the wet market for the garlic aligue pasta that he's making for a dear friend who lives a block away but whom he hadn't seen for a while;

or when he gets up at 10am to make lunch for his boyfriend who spent the night at his place and he calls him to the table and discovers, as he enters his own bedroom, that his bed has been made;
or when he gets up before lunch to find out that someone is making lunch for him;

then it's all worth saying goodbye to snooze. It's all worth the trouble of rising and greeting the morning that has broken.