Gone are the days of lazy sleeping-in mornings of my youth. I was a late sleeper; lying in ’til noon or later. The early afternoon sun would stream through one of my two windows and flood my bed with the most delicious warm sunlight and I would notice, briefly, and return to slumber.
Why is it, the older we get the earlier we rise? Shouldn’t our lack of youthful energy make us more apt to sleep in? I’m not insinuating that I jump up at seven a.m.-the exact hour my eyes pop open every morning without fail. I lounge in bed reading, catching up on the internets, or stare at the ceiling willing myself back to sleep but it doesn’t come.
Most mornings I glance out the bedroom window to see how the Cove is welcoming the sunrise. Sometimes the lake is calm and mirror-like with a clear sky blanketing it. Most days there is a low lying fog hovering and moving just above the surface of Greers Ferry. These are my favorite. The lake looks ethereal, mysterious, inviting in a wrap-yourself-in-a-cozy-throw-and-grab-a-hot-cuppa while-you-take-a-romantic-stroll-through-the cove kind of way.
But, that would be ridiculous, right? Sleep. Sleep is romantic. Sleep is mysterious and ethereal. It’s also elusive.
Sleep is romantic. Dreamy post.