WPC: Early Morning Rewards

The sun is new each day.~Heraclitus

Why do I always resist getting up early?   Morning is not the enemy–I tell myself in that liminal state between sleep and wakefulness.  And my husband, who has leapt out of bed before dawn and has already run a few miles, agrees–of course.  I must admit that on those rare days when I crawl out of bed and grab my camera right after dawn, I am often rewarded.   Here’s a sample of some early morning shots taken in the United States and Mexico.

  1.  Here’s a lone fisherman, casting his reel into the Atlantic.   We spotted him on a walk in Cocoa Beach, Florida.
Early Morning Fisherman. Cocoa Beach, Florida. Shot with a Canon 70D.

Early Morning Fisherman. Cocoa Beach, Florida. Shot with a Canon 70D.

2.  Here’s another reward when we were eating an early breakfast on the portico of our hotel in San Jose del Cabo.  This lovely yellow-hooded oriole was stealing our sugar.

Stealing the Sugar. San Jose del Cabo, Mexico. Shot with a Canon 70D.

Stealing the Sugar. San Jose del Cabo, Mexico. Shot with a Canon 70D.

3.  And finally, here’s an infantryman in the Continental Army in Boston checking his iPhone early one morning before the tourists started arriving.  And he thought no one was watching…

Continental infantryman checks his iPhone. Shot with a Canon 40D. Boston, Massachusetts

Continental infantryman checks his iPhone. Shot with a Canon 40D. Boston, Massachusetts

I’ll end this post with a poem and a wish.  The poem sums up the potential and promise of a new day–to those of us who dare to rise early enough to seize it.  And the wish is for you:  many fine mornings in the days ahead!

Morning by Billy Collins

Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,
then night with his notorious perfumes,
his many-pointed stars?
This is the best—
throwing off the light covers,
feet on the cold floor,
and buzzing around the house on espresso—
maybe a splash of water on the face,
a palmful of vitamins—
but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso,
dictionary and atlas open on the rug,
the typewriter waiting for the key of the head,
a cello on the radio,
and, if necessary, the windows—
trees fifty, a hundred years old
out there,
heavy clouds on the way
and the lawn steaming like a horse
in the early morning.

Source: MORNING

 

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