by Belinda Furby
I love the early mornings; they are more like a place to me than a time of day - a comfy spot I can sink my bones down into, a little nook where I can pray, write, and read. My mind seems to work best in these small, dark hours, when the rest of my family still wander in their dreams. Maybe it’s because I haven’t started to parcel myself out yet; all of my molecules and cells belong only to me – there are few distractions - nothing has required me to start sloughing off little bits and pieces. No school lunches to be made, no clothes to be found, no one to wake up, no attention that needs to be given. I move around quietly, slowly, and see myself reflected in the black windows as I pad softly from room to room. The mirrors lose their black background, moving through all the shades of gray, and then, swiftly it seems, become portholes gazing out at the awakening world.
Belinda Furby, whose full catalog is here, lives and writes in North Carolina (where she slowly sips very strong coffee in her early morning revelries). Read some of her ramblings.