We set the alarm for 6:30 a.m., and thanks to daylight savings, this feels like 05:30, so we inevitably set the alarm for a bit longer and actually shovel out of bed at 6:37 a.m.

It’s alright, because–except for the hot coffee–we gathered everything the night prior.

We shuffle into the thick wool sweater–the blue one–and dance into thick socks. Very gently, we avoid the squeaky parts on the wooden staircase and maneuver ourselves into the kitchen.

Right hand makes french press coffee. Left hand grabs the Stanley thermos we got for Christmas this year.

We take to the car with the basket in hand.

Inside our basket is an arsenal of happy things:

  • Blanket — 1
  • Thermos of hot coffee — 1 
  • Tin mug — 1
  • Loaf of sourdough from the Bakehouse — 1
  • Small jar of Jif’s Natural creamy peanut butter — 1
  • Spoon — 1
  • Hat and pair of mittens (just in case) — 1 

Of course, this “we” is the mind and body which is not fully synced upon first awakening.

The world is dark and thick right now, a spackle of dusty stars loafs over us. It smells like oxygen, which is not so common these days.

The consciousness drives us to the Top of the World and parks the car a little out of the way. It’s still dark and we’re not so aligned, a bit shifty as the body hikes us up to the top of the hill.

We calculate–Never Eat Soggy Waffles–and take the blanket from the basket to spread on the grassy earth.

It feels surprisingly delicious to sit cross-legged. Perhaps the incline of the hill. Perhaps we aren’t as in shape as we like to believe. Perhaps this is the beginning of the day’s alignment. Perhaps–


The spackles had faded without our realization and the sky is a dusty cobalt. There, right there; the very beginning of the day.

A single pink line on a wiggly horizon.

We lift the thermos from the basket and set down the mug, pouring ourselves a stream of coffee–not too hot, not too cold.

A second streak of orange raises the big blind and joins the pink.

We fold down the crisp flap of the brown sack, unleashing wafts of Bakehouse sourdough. A dunk into peanut butter, a wash with coffee, and the eyelids close slowly, a breath of air whisking out from the nostrils.

Eyelids back open. New flares on the horizon.

It takes us half a loaf of bread and two spoonfuls of peanut butter before we can see the bubble of brilliant sun yawning its way to Earth.

The rays strike against long white tails of jets long passed, creating streaks of pinks and yellows racing off as heralds.

A rabbit scampers through the grass next to us.

A slow warmth spreads from the tips of my cross-legged toes to the ends of messy, bedraggled hair, and I tuck the half-loaf of bread back into the crisp brown packet to save for lunch.

I’m just easing the lid back onto Jif’s natural creamy peanut butter and capping the thermos when I realize:

I’m an I. Not a “we” anymore. 

‘Ello consciousness, ‘ello body. Hello alignment.

I untangle myself from cross-legged position and stand, stretching my fingers to the sky and giving a great bellowing yawn. Blood dances within me. I tuck the contents back into my basket and fold my blanket carefully, placing it on top.

With long strides I make my way back to the car.

My goal was to wake up early and watch the sunrise. I have accomplished this goal. I have reaped the rewards from such accomplishment. Now I get to experience the day.  A day in full, a day in circulation, a day in alignment.


When I wake up in the morning, I’m going to be a “we” again. Because sometimes our accomplishments have a time limit.

I can complain–but I already did that once! 

I can pout–it’s too much work to do it every day! 

I can demand–body, mind, obey me! 

But it comes down to this: it doesn’t stop with the accomplishment.



Peace and blessings,






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