there is a deliciousness to the hour before dawn.
every year, when the clocks change, i look forward to the sunday where when you get up, its an hour earlier than it feels it is. it is the deepest, darkest, most silent part of the night. it is an hour i am very seldom up to see.
because even if, as sometimes happens, im awake in the middle of the night, there's something about that time as it approaches that cloaks me like a shroud. i can feel the drop in my own temperature, i can feel my arms and legs turn into weights. i can feel my head cloud, and my eyes blur. inevitably, i am usually sound asleep.
for me, it is that hour, ... not midnight... that's the witching hour... the hour that turns the night-time into day. that's the hour the magic really happens. and almost always, i sleep through it.
every year when i wake up, an hour earlier than i think it is, i think, what shall i do with this precious hour, these sixty minutes of banked time? it seems to me if you're going to save an hour for nearly a whole six months, you should make it count when it comes.
some years ive slept through it. some years ive cleaned with it. some years i've frittered it away, like a pocketful of loose change. this year... im giving it to my story... 9,856 words/50,000 and counting. ;)
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.