I know what 3:05 in the morning looks like. I can describe it in detail, every color, every sound, even, somehow, how the air feels. Its way too late to go to sleep, way too early to get up, yet, here I am, staring into the harsh blue light of my laptop. This is the time of day my body has chosen to get started, sometimes it takes a minute or two for my mind to catch up. I like 3:05, it has become a friend, a reliable, steady presence in my life.
I’ll go make some coffee, which, if I time it right, will stop brewing just as the first bit of light reaches this place, and I will step outside and welcome it by sipping my coffee and blowing smoke rings.
The horses will know I’m there, and come up from their campsite to stare at me until I decide to give them their sweet-feed and block of hay.
The older dog has heard me by now. He’ll slowly stand up on his tired bones and join me, no matter how much his body complains. The other dog is already at my side, hoping that today is a day I brought a treat out for her. One cat will climb out of the chimenea, the other will come in from the barn, and my posse will be complete.
Soon it will be time to roust the children from their bunks and get them ready for school.
I find that I am pretty protective of that space of time beforehand, though. I don’t want anyone else up, yet. Not even today.
EDIT: Just found out I have to share this day with Condi Rice, Joseph McCarthy, Yanni, Prince Charles, Claude Monet, Robert Fulton, Brian Keith, Veronica Lake , Jaraharlal Nehru, and McLean Steveson, and others. Damn.