What do normal people do early in the morning if it’s a day off? Yes, they are sleeping — curtains drawn, phones face-down, lost in the blissful unawareness of a slow morning. I wasn’t that normal today, and went outside.
At 5 a.m. I was meditating with the paints on canvas, brush moving almost before my mind caught up, chasing the soft light that only exists for a few stolen minutes before the world wakes up. The air had that particular coolness that summer mornings keep as a secret — crisp, unhurried, belonging entirely to the early risers. And the birds. Vivid, layered, unapologetic — their songs filling the silence like a symphony that needed no audience, yet somehow felt performed just for me.
There’s something quietly radical about choosing wonder over sleep. About driving through empty streets while the city still dreams, the car carrying you faithfully toward a field, a riverbank, a patch of sky worth painting. Freedom, in its simplest and most honest form.
Love summer for early dawns — for the way the light arrives gently, like it’s trying not to startle you. Love the car for bringing me where I want. And above all — thank you, Life, for being so kind to me. For days that begin this beautifully, before most people even open their eyes.
