As the dewy leaves drop water bit by little bit into the morning lake, I look out into the sky, at the growing blueness and brightness of morning. The beginning of the day.
The beginning of something is so incredibly beautiful and special, a sense of excitement at what's to come, a hopeful feeling that shivers in the damp air but holds firm.
So often we miss the beginning, preferring to sleep in late or rush through it completely.
But I love beginnings.
The beginning of summer: the first splash in the pool, the first waves of the beach, the first sting of sunburn, and the first afternoon thunderstorm, are as exciting as birthday presents. Why not? a birthday simply celebrates a beginning after all.
But now, summer's not what I'm looking for. Somewhere in the morning air, as I sit by the lake, I sense an adventure about to take place. A new adventure. A fantastic adventure. And I'm invited.
I treasure this moment, when no one knows but me. One day, my hard work will be noticed, my actions written, or my journey recorded, in the middle and end of my life.
But on this morning, only I can truly appreciate ... the beginning of the adventure.