Quiet.

Morning solitude is soft and nourishing. It feels kind and hopeful. I love to feel the beat of life, the energy of purpose, but in the morning, before people are even out of their beds pumping the coffee into their veins, there is this, the trees, the empty roads, the open sky, and an invitation to do better. I never think of terrorist plots, or mass killings, or racism, or how many women Bill Cosby drugged during the silent moments of pre-dawn. I just think of breathing, in and out. I wish I could bottle that calm and pull it out when I need it. I could sell it like hotdogs on a street cart in Manhattan. People would line up for blocks. “Calm here, get your calm here.”

Until I figure out that technology, I will get up early, before everybody else and let the air fill my lungs, and the sweetness of possibility inhabit my brain. Ahhhhhh–maste.