morning ⁽¹⁾

The heat is unbearable.

Only at night does it somewhat relent. I woke up around five, checked on the children. Decided to go sleep in the hammock, while the air is still fresh. Wrapped myself in a blanket and went outside. From the porch, I saw the edge of the blazing dawn. From that moment, I no longer belonged to myself. Determinism. I got dressed quickly, which is always hard when Dasha is sleeping in the room with the wardrobe, and I can't find my socks.

I run in my slippers. About three kilometers to the vantage point in the forest. I keep worrying that the red hue will disappear and I won't catch its full glory. Where does this come from in me? Why did I decide that it's beautiful? Year after year, I recall my impressions.

When Dasha and I went to the sea, we often encountered them, especially in recent years. It was a rule to make breakfast in the twilight and then drive, rush to the loungers, waiting for the sun to rise. And we always hurried, because we were always a bit late.

And even before that, many years earlier. I went mushrooming with my parents. How all this early waking, the joint gathering, the departure to a deserted place. Everything pierced with silence and freshness. Once they decided not to take me because I was sound asleep. I still can't forget that sad incident.

And even earlier than that. In the summer, with my grandmother, I stayed overnight at my great-grandmother's house. And then I was woken up. We went out to the porch. We did something resembling morning gymnastics. And watched the rising sun. I was told that it was very beneficial, but only early in the morning (I didn't know about cortisol back then).

Maybe when I was born, like a little lion king, I was brought out at dawn to greet life?

Who knows when the story of this love began, and which strings of my soul the morning sun touches...