I’ve always been an early bird. I wake up at the crack of dawn as a matter of course. On most Saturdays and Sundays, I try to roll over and get a bit more sleep. This morning, though, I saw the early morning sunlight lancing through the slats on our blinds and had the opposite impulse — so I got up and got ready to head out for a walk.
When you’re out for an early morning stroll, there’s no need to primp. You’re not going to run into anyone at 6 a.m. A ratty t-shirt and old shorts will do just fine, and don’t worry about totally eliminating that bed head, either. Drag your fingers through your sorry excuse for a coiff, try to pat down the more egregious hair eruptions, and get going.
One nice thing about the early morning hours: during the high summer days in the Midwest, when the daytime temperatures can reach the 90s as has been the case recently, they’re one of the few reasonable walking times of the day. This morning there was still a delightful whiff of lingering nighttime coolness in the air, not yet burned to a crisp by the blazing sun and throttled by the steamy humidity that will be coming soon enough. Simply breathing was a pleasure, and a few deep gulps of the fresh air tasted wonderful.
As I took my lap around Schiller Park, the robins were out on the lawns, hopping and hunting for worms with their sharp-eyed, birdlike intensity. The duck pond was swarming with ducks and geese, and some of the adventurous fowl mysteriously decided to march across the street, apparently in search of food. For the birds among us, it was time to be out and about, even if most of the sleepy human world was still fast asleep.
This morning, it felt good to be one of the early birds.