In my school days, I loved waking up early. Around 6 in the morning I would get to the city's square and just sit there - in the still, sleepy atmosphere, with only the fountain's splashing water sound reminding me that life has not stopped forever. Occasionally, a street sweeper would pass by, or early worker's footsteps would make me turn my head and smile to them, and then an utter calmness would take over again. There was something magical about knowing that most everyone's asleep; it felt peaceful and safe.
Other days I'd head to the main train station and I'd watch the opposite - lots and lots of people getting on and off the trains, rushing, heading to or coming from who knows where, their faces sort of caught in between asleep and awake. Unaware of my gentle intrusion, their confusion makes me smile. Newspaper stands would be already open and their business was at their peak. After making up what the dreams and the daily chores of some of the people might be, I'd giggle at my own silliness and head to school with a smile.
These days are long gone…
Lately I don't get up early often. But when I get a chance to stay with my best (and early-bird) friend, I find myself awake at 6 am and somehow, that longing to go out on the streets and simply watch the world in its most peaceful state, to enjoy the promise of the dawn of a new day...it comes back to me and overwhelms me with hope. I feel like a fisherman, who leaves a warm, comfortable bed, takes a cup of hot coffee, and replaces the safety of home with the hope that on his boat, out in the sea, it will be a good day for fishing, early hour and cold weather irrelevant.
Perhaps we are all fishermen, waking up every morning to the promise of another day.