I have NEVER enjoyed getting up at six in the morning. Never. In fact, if I’m being perfectly honest, I don’t do it. By the time I finally, and very reluctantly, roll out of bed, it’s around fifteen to twenty minutes after my alarm started playing music. That’s on a normal day, however, today, I chose to get up around five minutes after six, I’m not sure why, but my body just decided it was a good day and I was getting up early.
As always around this time of year, it was light outside already, but what I saw through the spaces in my blinds this morning was far better than the pale beige land obstructions behind my house. Oh no, this was a beautiful dark silhouette of mountains against a hand painted pink and orange sky. It was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous, and I couldn’t help but stare in awe. Now I’m not one to go on and on about how ‘the first little yellow flower in my mother’s garden made my week worth enduring purely for the tiny details and blessings in my life.’ No. I honestly couldn’t care much less about that flower, it’s just another plant in the front yard, so what? A deer is probably going to have eaten it by the end of the week.
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| Breathtaking view from my bedroom window |
So you see my point. I’m not super sentimental or anything, but I did love seeing this sunrise. I mean, it was magical. Almost enough to make me want to wake up early every morning just to see it. But then I remember that sleep is awesome, and as a freshman I don't get nearly enough. The only reason I ever voluntarily get up, let alone, get up, will be only for sports.
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