Sometime around five o'clock on a winters morning in the Midwest my eyes slowly open in anticipation of the new and frosty day. Being born a Midwesterner and grandson of farmer I have always enjoyed the early morning hours. A time in the city when the noise and congestion of the work-a-day-world are, for a few brief hours, still in bed and nature rules.
To walk in the solitude of an early morning snow in Lincoln Park is sublime. To breathe in the freshness of the crystalline air not yet polluted by the machines of the city is a delight. But to be alive and alone in the stark vastness of a metropolis is magical, as if the world has stopped for a moment just for you and allowed you to take a snapshot of your life in suspension.
When I first discovered this morning moment I was surprised at how few others knew of it; almost as if too good to be true the secret remains for those of us who wander alone. Maybe it is a gift from the gods, beings of light and energy, for the dream walkers like me who rely on silence and solitude to recharge and rejuvenate. Or could it be a state of consciousness that exists in all of us at different times of the day, or at different stages of life itself.
For me it is in the winter especially that these moments of crystal reflection can become reality and foreshadow an afterlife where the souls of the noble and righteous dwell in peace and contentment under an eternally starry sky and then at once the warm days sun can melt the icy touch of that moment and fill it with new and vibrant life.
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