Strange Thing in the Morning

I lay in bed this morning in the dark. Though as for that the lengthening of the days is upon us, and so in spite of the early hour there was a slight gray glow in the air. But I had my eyes closed.

So I lay in bed in a self-imposed darkness. And I listened to the song of a cardinal outside. That was the only sound to be heard as I lay in bed this morning in that darkness: the singing of a distant cardinal in the silence of the dawn.

Yet even though the cardinal was all I could hear, there was also the tree he was in and the branches and buds beginning to push out into spring. I could hear all this in the song of that cardinal singing at dawn. Really, I could.

But that is not what I wanted to talk about.

The strange thing about this morning was this. As I lay there I could no longer sleep. And since I could no longer sleep I got up, and coffee got made, because Trudy got up, too. And the dog began running around, and the cat jumped into my lap as I sat at the keyboard typing these words.

The strange thing was that even though the dawn was only just dawning, and even though day was mostly still dark, and even though the only sound to be heard was that cardinal in the tree, and even though it was the weekend and there was nothing to do, I got up.

The strange thing was that I was wide awake and got up to tell you what a strange thing it was that I would get up to tell you what a strange thing it was.

Strange thing, indeed.

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