I write about vampires, the infamous creatures of the night, so it’s ironic that I’m a morning person. (In my stories, what gives vampires the ultimate willies is the light of dawn. Morning rays fry them like bacon.)
My early morning drive to the day job cuts east for several blocks on Colfax Avenue through central Denver. At that time of day, the city has a special rhythm, especially along Colfax which is a street with plenty of character. There’s an urban poetry to the moment.
The neon shimmers above coffee shops which promise hot meals and a respite before the day starts in earnest. Young people keen on getting a head start whiz by on scooters. Working stiffs wait slack-faced for the bus, the first stop on their daily treadmill. Winos stagger along the sidewalk like zombies looking for a place to hide. Unemployed men line up at the labor center. And sometimes you’ll see a couple of lovers holding hands and smiling at the opportunities before them.
Some people dread an early morning wake up. To them, getting up anytime before eight might as well be the middle of the night. But to me, an early morning wake up means the day brings adventure. (Never mind that I work in a cube and adventure means a trip to the vending machine.) Getting ready while it’s still dark out reminds me of going fishing, long drives on vacation, and helicopter flights across country. Add the smell of diesel exhaust and I’m eight years old again and at the Greyhound bus station waiting for departure to Chihuahua.
You don’t get up early because you’ve got nothing better to do. That’s why the sleepy-heads among you lounge in bed until mid-morning.
I’m curious to hear what the night-owls have to say. Comments from the undead are especially welcome.