Is my favorite day.
Because I watch the
w o r l d
wake up.
I watch as the orange-yellow sun peeks across the horizon,
spilling molten gold over the rooftops and treetops,
brushing them with soft, shimmering light.
The sky slowly trades its indigo for watercolor blues and pinks,
as if someone is gently washing the dark away with a wide, patient brush.
I listen as the birds rejoice,
their songs threading through the cool morning air like bright ribbons.
The damp earth still smells of night—
fresh grass, cool soil, and the faint sweetness of dew resting on each blade.
A thin mist hangs low over the ground,
curling around fence posts and drifting lazily between the trees.
I sit, quietly enjoying this time.
My mug warms my hands,
and little clouds of steam rise and vanish into the pale morning.
The world feels hushed and tender,
as if it’s taking a deep breath before the day truly begins.
Before long, a river of cars will flow by heading to church,
their headlights blinking like fireflies fading in the growing light.
Doors will open, voices will float across the street,
and the calm will slowly ripple into motion.
My neighbor will walk his dog,
the leash a thin line between them,
paws tapping softly on the waking pavement.
And I will sit and watch on this beautiful
s u n d a y,
while the sky stretches fully awake—blue and bright and endless.
Mar 22
Mar 22, 2026 at 10:15 AM UTC
Is my favorite day.
Because I watch the
w o r l d
wake up.
I watch as the orange-yellow sun peeks across the horizon,
spilling molten gold over the rooftops and treetops,
brushing them with soft, shimmering light.
The sky slowly trades its indigo for watercolor blues and pinks,
as if someone is gently washing the dark away with a wide, patient brush.
I listen as the birds rejoice,
their songs threading through the cool morning air like bright ribbons.
The damp earth still smells of night—
fresh grass, cool soil, and the faint sweetness of dew resting on each blade.
A thin mist hangs low over the ground,
curling around fence posts and drifting lazily between the trees.
I sit, quietly enjoying this time.
My mug warms my hands,
and little clouds of steam rise and vanish into the pale morning.
The world feels hushed and tender,
as if it’s taking a deep breath before the day truly begins.
Before long, a river of cars will flow by heading to church,
their headlights blinking like fireflies fading in the growing light.
Doors will open, voices will float across the street,
and the calm will slowly ripple into motion.
My neighbor will walk his dog,
the leash a thin line between them,
paws tapping softly on the waking pavement.
And I will sit and watch on this beautiful
s u n d a y,
while the sky stretches fully awake—blue and bright and endless.
My experience with being an early riser. I highly recommend setting one weekend alarm for 7:30, getting hot chocolate or coffee, and sitting and watching the world wake up.
