I Caught A Morning

By 5 a.m. I was fully awake, watching the sky in its journey to dawn. First a bright planetary object rose above the hills...Venus? I wish I knew these things.

Next a thin white line of daylight traced the silhouetted shapes of earth I see from our window, and then came a moment when it could no longer be denied: morning had arrived.

Here's where I did something different. I got out of bed, dressed (sort of, in a not-for-prime-time way), hurried outside, and got on my trusty bicycle. It was just an impulse.

I took that picture of the Sacate Canyon road along the way. In reality, the color of the hills was more subtle, muted, pale...very much like hay. And I want to remember that hay is what the world smelled like. Hay and sweetness. And the sky in its shy whiteness felt gentle and protective.

And everything was absolutely still.

The main road, Rancho Real, was deserted. Not a car passed. I paused to look at the ocean. It was gray, white-fringed, puddled intermittently with glassy patches. A cow grazed on the bluff.

I turned up Coyote Canyon and began my climb. At first I'd hoped to see some wildlife, and then I began to hope I didn't. Imagining myself an unexpected morning meal for a mountain lion, I hummed and talked out loud in a good assertive voice, then felt silly and stopped. That's when I heard the canyon wren.

Bits of daylight were snagged in the branches of the oaks, the fields grew gradually more golden, and no one can tell me I wasn't ten years old again as I coasted back down Sacate toward home.It was good. I feel like I have a secret.

And even in town later (yes, that's where we're headed) I'll know that a part of this day was mine.