I am resolutely not a 'morning person' however being a parent has necessitated that I am present from the very early morning whether I like it or not. I have wished for most of my life that the very early hours of daybreak were my friend, with romantic notions peppering my head of writing before the house awakes, pottering with tea, or dew soaked dog walks in the woods. Writers such as Laurie Colwin can capture these fresh, intensely personal morning activities as something sacred, but truth be told getting up repeatedly at 5 or 6am really just leaves me feeling a bit nauseous.
In saying that I do appreciate the promise in a morning - the optimum time between say 8-10am. Where it is still early enough to feel the whole day spread in front of you with all the magic and excitement that it could hold - the perfect heart of morning.
I keep coming back to that phrase and have been trying to capitalise on those precious hours when I am with the family. Last weekend we careered down country lanes, crushing fallen crab apples under our feet, dappled with the strong autumn sun. It was magical light, we could almost grasp the equidistant rays above our heads. If you look carefully above you can see them framing the moments; nature's signal that every morning is perfect.