I emerged into a still world of grey light at 4:45 AM, and I stood in the garden breathing in the sweet, early-morning air. I heard the first bird make a sound. It soon became a peace-shattering cacophony of noise, which definitively bridged the gap and declared it day.
I savoured my moment in this transitional time. The rain overnight had encouraged dozens of slugs and snails to come out and eat my plants, but it didn't bother me as much for some reason. I can't blame them; dew-covered shoots and leaves look far more appealing than dry ones. It felt magical to stand surrounded by such slow forms of nature, which seemed incredibly active and busy in relation to the stillness everywhere else. There was silence from the tracks and from the road - the trains had not started running, and I couldn't hear a single bus or car despite living on the main road into the city. And no drunken shouts. Just the growing din of seagulls to remind me that I do in fact live in a big coastal city.
It's as if the world was tucked safely in its bed, and there was time to discover its secrets in this little chink of time between night and day...
|by kaasutii @ dA|
It has been a long time since my mind has felt so active, or so inspired. I should not have gone back to bed. I should have stayed up and written more than I did. Whilst everything around me was still I felt so alive, and like I was meant to be there experiencing it all - I wrote with ease, with instinctive voice, and with honest passion. Nothing felt forced. I didn't feel worried, stressed, or like a fraud; everything about me and what I was doing felt natural. It felt right.
Some people say you should write first thing in the morning. Others say at night. Others say whenever you have a free moment in the middle of your hectic day. I say: write when you feel the magic, because you will be the most true to yourself.