Thursday, January 17, 2008
Up before the birds
Caspar David Friedrich, Der Morgen (1820)
Every now and then, I find myself inexplicably and irreversibly awake at 4:37 in the morning. This happened again this morning.
I felt hot. Then I felt itchy. Then I felt itchy and hot. I felt a blurred, diluted sense of hopelessness and anxiety hanging over me. I tried to remember things I meant to look up on Wikipedia. (The "History of Pizza" and "Graf Zeppelin" were among these things.) I felt sort of hungry.
So I crept out of bed and into the living room. I decided to catch up on the four issues of Harpers I had lying around. (I have a subscription, and truly enjoy Harpers when I get around to reading it.) I read a fascinating article on the processing of and trade in human waste by Frederick Kaufman; it's in the February 2008 edition of the magazine and is highly recommended.
The light outside is a very deep, but gradually lightening, blue. It was silent before, except for a moaning cat, who seemed to be whimpering to herself in the predawn darkest. Now there's the closing car doors of neighbors making an early start to get a prime spot on P1 of the parking structure, buses beginning to run morning routes on Colorado, and the faraway rumble of eggs and bacon rolling into town on the backs of trucks on the 134.
It's a perfect time of day. Anything is still possible, before we go and mess it all up, taint the day with our failures, and give up on it, plan to do better tomorrow.