The Light in the Morning

I often think about what I should do with the light in the morningwhen my bare feet brush the cold tiles,my dark locks in disarray, and the cumulus of pale sheets match my early complexion.The sky’s premature blueness through the blindsis brighter in my dreams, but neither last long enough. To extend the duration,I reach for a record so classic,so winsome,so delightful that makes the coffee pot bottomless and morning pastries flakier.With the travel section of the paper and the birds chirping in proper union at my arsenal,I’ve started to realize that morning is where real opportunity resides --steeped for hours and sweetened with honey. It’s before the cartoons startand the businessmen warm up their cars.  During the sky’s identity crisis --whether to a be a warm orange,rosy pink,Or to grant the rays residency -- those who sit down with a cup of caffeineand look at the same hazy heaven as merealize how tragic it would be to live in a world without mornings. Because it’s here where the accumulation of hectic weeks and months  are neutralized by the tunes of Sinatra and Astaireand an exquisite elegance emerges.  My fellow early risers soon realize that the light in the morning can always stay -reflected in our eyes and fueling our ambitions. As I sit near the window,with the seemingly impossible feat of holding the delightful early glow, I begin to wonder,if some can believe six impossible things before breakfast,why can’t I?