Normally, I wake up feeling like, well,
Well, today was the day I saw my aunt off at the airport. She's going to Hong Kong and South Korea for two weeks. How nice. She asked if I wanted to go with her previously. I told her I'd love to, but couldn't. (School. It's all because of school, darn it!)
Anyways, it was a rather sad situation. Sometimes my aunt is quite childlike--innocent, scatterbrained, easily frightened--somewhat fragile and delicate. It makes me guilty that I'm so harsh to her so often. She goes unappreciated. It's a long story, but if need be, I would give my life up for her. To say the least--she means the world to me, and she is probably the only person on earth that has that much meaning to me.
But wow. I just totally veered off from the original topic of this post:
I find winter mornings to be wonderful. The pale blue of the sky provides a quiet, tranquil backdrop. At 7:53 a.m., the sun is right over the horizon. It's breathtakingly majestic. The frost on the earthen ground is crisp. The ground crunches when you walk on it. A thin layer of fog hangs above snowy patches on the ground. But the sun--once again it's always about the sun because it is far too grand to be left unspoken of.
The sun lights up the sky. Sets it ablaze, sets it aglow. There's something irresistible about that powerful orb of light. Its celestial and omnipresence renders me in eternal awe.
Altogether, the winter morning atmosphere fiercely appeals to my poetic/philosophical/contemplative self. I could write a thousand poems every winter morning if I woke up this way...