Early Morning

creative writing, morning, tea, writing, fiction, sunrise, earlyIt was early, long before the birds awoke. The sky was still an inky blue, the sun was hours away from rising and the moon and stars were hidden by a blanket of clouds. Gusts of wind pushed and pulled at the blinds covering the open window rousing her from her slumber. She lay there for a moment wanting to return to the blissful world of sleep, but the wind had another idea. It blew again, this time banging the blinds harder against the window frame.

“Get up!” It seemed to be saying. “You’ve slept long enough.”

“No,” she thought in the direction of the wind. “No, I’m very happy with going back to sleep.”

“But, there are things to do!” The wind seemed to say a little more gently, coming and going through the open window.

“But I don’t have to do them now.”

As if to say “we’ll see about that,” the wind gave an almighty push through the window rattling not only the blinds but the papers on the table nearby; she heard them rustle and hoped they hadn’t blown to the floor.

Trying to ignore the wind, she rolled over and curled into a ball. Maybe she could simply will the wind away. It was much too early to be awake. She needed her sleep, not that the wind seemed to care about that. At first, it seemed to work, the room was silent. Her eyes began to grow heavy again, her mind dipping its toe in the waters of the dream world, preparing to dive back in…

“Hey,” the wind whispered. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“Please,” she pleaded. “Just go away. I don’t want to be up right now. It’s still dark out. The birds even think it’s too early.”

“Nonsense,” the wind declared. “It’s never too early. I’m wide awake. Here I’ll show you.” A noisy gust rattled the blinds again. “See?”

“Yes,” she admitted grudgingly. “I can see you’re wide awake. But I’m not, and I don’t want to be. Go away.”

Silence followed.

“Yes, thank you wind,” she thought gratefully a moment too soon.

The rustle of papers and banging blinds resounded loudly through the room. “Nah!” the wind called happily. “I don’t feel like it.”

She took a deep breath and let it back out slowly. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep and her body felt as if it had sunk into the mattress from exhaustion. Her mind, though, had woken up a bit. She refrained from answering the wind’s call a few more times, letting it sing its early morning chorus accompanied by the blinds and papers.

Slowly, sleep released her eyes and her body began to grow restless.

“Fine!” She finally admitted angerly at the wind. “You win, I’m getting up.”

“Yay!” The wind squealed. “I knew you’d make the right choice eventually.”

“Yeah, it definitely was a choice,” she responded sarcastically.

Throwing back the covers, she let the cold air wash over her. No point in denying it now, she was certainly awake. Steeling herself, she swung her legs out of bed and stood. The wind celebrated the effort by whooshing through the window.

She threw the covers back over the mattress where she’d just been laying, warm and cozy. The room was still dark, as was the world outside. Though she’d never admit it to the wind, there was something magical about being awake before the birds. It was as if the world hadn’t started yet, and she had all the time in the world. Though in a way she kind of did.

Treading carefully over the floor so she didn’t step on discarded pillows, she made her way across the room. She groped around in the dark, searching for her robe. Finding it, she slid it on. If the wind wanted her up this early, at least she could still be cozy. She searched for the lamp next. A few moments later, there was a click and a white, yellow glow brought the room into view.

Papers were strewn across the carpet where the wind had tossed them. She bent to pick them up, roughly stacking them together, not caring if they were organized, and lay them on her bed where the wind couldn’t reach.

A gust came through the window as if to protest her moving of the papers.

“That’s what you get for making a mess,” she told it; the gust died back down. “There, that’s better. I don’t mind if you’re here now that I’m up, but try not to make a mess of things. I’ll be back, I’m going to make some tea.”

Back in her room a few minutes later, she set the mug on the table and sat down. “Now what,” she asked the wind. It gently ventured through the window, in an almost friendly way lifting the top sheet on a pad of paper.  “I haven’t done that in a while,” she told the wind, looking at the pad. “Now is as good a time as any.”

Taking a sip of tea, she picked up a pen and began to write.

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