February Robin

I was surprised to see a robin this morning. This is not him, but a beautiful photo @ Gavatron I found on Flickr that very much looks like how I found him. He was alone, not in a small flock like you usually see robins after they've made the trip back north. High in a crab apple tree, fluffed up to fend off the cold, surrounded by frozen treats still hanging on the branches. He did not look happy to be here--I wonder if he got the memo from the wrong ground hog. I hope he likes frozen fruit! That may be all there is to eat for a while...

Inspiration rises earlier than the worm

I am not a morning person. 

I am the opposite of such a brain-addled creature, preferring the dark recesses of my bed far past what could be deemed socially responsible. 

However.

If I do rise before the dawn--which is an easy venture in the dark days of February--and sit at my computer to write, I find I have a clarity of mind and a sharpness of purpose unattainable at any other time of day.  Email does not tempt me, neither does the laundry in the dryer, nor the clutter in the kitchen. I don't want to read or eat; even my coffee, usually thick with sugar and milk, must be black if I am to drink while writing in the early morning darkness.   

It's all about the story. It fills my head, my room, and all the waiting, pressing world; it blocks out the rising sun and takes the foremost place in all my attention.

It is magical. It is rare. Why?

Because I am NOT a morning person. 

Curses!