I always wake up early on Saturdays. Usually, around 4 AM. It’s complete nonsense. I have one or two days each week to sleep in. Nothing crazy. I’m not asking to sleep until noon. I’m not a teenager. I have responsibilities. But is waking at 7:00 or even 7:30 AM asking too much? A few extra minutes would be nice. But I don’t. It never happens.
I’m wide awake even before the birds which goes against my personal sleep/wake cycle philosophy to “rise with the birds.” It’ll be a solid two hours before the Carolina wren lets out its first boisterous song of the morning. Even the cardinals are snoozing away somewhere in a tree or bush — and they get up before everyone. The introverts.
The positive in this all, the silver lining, is I have uninterrupted time to write. Complete quiet. I have to be. Otherwise, I’ll wake up the rest of the house. They don’t want that. Because, unlike me, they are sleeping in. They are getting a couple extra minutes or even hours of shut eye. But not me. Nope. I’m sitting here tapping away at the keys on my laptop. Because it’s Saturday and this is my tradition.
The good news, however, is now that I’ve been awake long enough, so are the birds. My buddy Stephen King is whistling in the evergreen behind me right now. Playing his tin whistle. Such a beautiful yet creepy tune. Hence, the nickname Stephen King I gave the white-throated sparrow. Feels like this melody would play in a scene from one of his books or movies when something bad is about to happen.