I used to be such a night owl, a boiled-in-the-wool night bird.
I was the kind of night bird who'd stay up late, devouring novels, writing, drawing and painting, working on collage and other creative projects in my solitude, happy as can be, occasionally going out to hear bands of friends, everyone was in a band back then it seemed, or to dinner or a movie.
Then I became a mother. And it all changed. It was during my pregnancy that the night bird flew away. I'd fall asleep after dinner on the sofa, wishing for cake and unable to make it through an episode of The Simpsons. (This was a long time ago, in 1994 to be precise.) Melrose Place followed Beverly Hills 90210 in those days.
With motherhood came a new appreciation for the morning. Mornings became my time, my moments of solitude. My babies slept well. They must have had some keen survival instinct in knowing that I was not happy when woken from my sleep. I somehow managed to nurse in the night without ever coming to a full state of awakening. You know that feeling?
My children have grown and still sleep well through the night. They are sometimes reluctant to go to bed and will sleep into the morning when there is no need to rise.
I never returned to the life of the nightbird. I am ready for bed shortly after nightfall and prefer a good book to a movie. I continue to savor the solitude of my mornings. This morning's splendor was too glorious not to share with you. When I looked out the window the sky to the south and easy was painted with these vibrant colors. I made no adjustments to the camera or photo, this is just how they came out.