On the odd occasion I am woken by my morning alarm. On the very odd occasion I sleep right through it. Some mornings, however, I wake long before it goes off. Once I’m awake, there’s no hope of falling back to sleep. For that I’m thankful because these earliest hours of the morning are my favourite time of day. I spend these precious hours one of two ways; I’ll either lay in bed and run my mind through the day, or I’m up and at ’em. When the latter occurs, the day is bound to be splendid. I roll out of bed, plant both feet on my carpeted floor in unison (never one before the other) and feel my way through the dark for my lamp switch. My sneakers go on, my hair is knotted in a heap on my head and I’m out the back door before my mind catches up to my body and sends it back to bed. The outside air is crisp and my street is quiet. The streetlights are on and the birds are asleep in their nests. I run. When I return an hour later, I take in the papers, make myself a coffee and wish my family good morning.