Morning Darkness

     Today is today. I am up at my usual 4:45 in the A.M. with Shelly. It is the least I can do since she is supporting both us and the kids now. I am glad that I get the time with her. Mornings are always the best, relaxed and easy, the monsters of the real world are still asleep. Early morning darkness has always been a security blanket for me.
     Some days I wish the darkness would stay. An omnipresent force to hide the world from me is always welcomed by me. Starting in high school, I naturally started to get up early. The morning was my time, my father had usually gone to work and my stepmother was still in bed. I loved reading the paper by myself as the subtle breeze blew icy snow flakes against the kitchen window. It was my time.
     At my mother's house it was totally different in the darkness of the mornings. When I was there my brother and I would awaken in the basement to the sounds of my mom banging around the kitchen. She always made us something for breakfast it seemed. Her house was the exact opposite of my father's house, not to say that Dad's house was bad, but Mom made her house a home. My father's house was a place to sleep, avoid my stepmother, and wait for Dad to get home so we could do stuff together. That was the difference. This is why the morning is still my favorite time of day.
     Most mornings I stand on my porch in the darkness with a cup of coffee. I stand in the darkness remembering times that have gone by, my memory prompted by a little passing breeze on my face or the sound of a train whistle. These things remind me of the places that have hidden me from the world.