Peace on the Porch

I am not a morning person by natural inclination. But as someone who deals with insomnia on a regular basis, I have learned the benefits of early morning rising. This summer my family moved into a new house which features a glorious wraparound porch facing east toward a driveway island planted with a pyramid of trees: a tall, graceful red cedar at the center, with various smaller pine trees, flowering dogwoods, hydrangeas, and other bushes sloping down towards either side. The land slopes downhill, away from the house, with a large park and pond just past it, which means I have a beautifully uninterrupted, silhouetted view of the sunrise through the trees on the island. Over the past few months of living here, I have discovered the joys of getting up early to sit on the porch with a cup of coffee, watching the sun rise.

When I first developed the habit, the sun was already fairly bright by 6am, and the birds were busy at the feeder by the time I brought my coffee out to join them. It was often quite warm even at that hour, and I padded out to the porch in bare feet and my nightclothes. But as the months have slipped by, my 6am rising has brought me out to a nearly-completely dark world, tinged with frostiness, and I toss on socks and a jacket before braving the dark. 

This morning, I felt my way over to a porch chair by the subtle glow of a crescent moon peering hazily through the clouds over the island. The world around was nearly silent, with only a distant, background hum from the highway far across the pond. A large, brief crashing sound from the woods nearby broke the silence: was that a neighbor, or a deer? In the darkness, I had no way of knowing. 

Half an hour and a full cup of coffee later, the skies have lightened and a bright rosy glow at the horizon shows me exactly where "east" is. The birds are still silent, except for the forlorn peep of some kind of shore bird whose call I don't recognize. A single car has driven past. No people, no dogs, no voices. Just peaceful quiet, as I watch the world coming into focus with the almost imperceptibly-brightening sky.

I listen for other sounds of the world coming to life. I hear the birds before I see them; a quiet shuffling in the branches, the click-click of tiny claws landing gracefully on the feeder or the shuffling of small feet in the mulch, a slight whoosh of wings as they dart back to their homes. As the sky continues to lighten, I see the occasional silhouette of a bird darting across the sky. 

The sounds grow more slowly than the light. The rumbling drone of a truck, the blue jays scolding each other awake, the pad-pad of a jogger's measured strides, the voice of a few birds quickly joined by many, my children's footsteps inside the house.

The world awakens slowly, and so do I. By the time the light and the sounds have reached their peak, I am ready to face them. Reluctantly, I leave the peace of the porch and go inside to face the day ahead with a smile on my face. 

Life is good. Even when it's hard, it's good. Even when my mind is tossing with worries and plans and life, I know I can find peace on the porch.