Sometimes I wish the early morning dark could last all day. The earliest parts of the day are always my favorite. There's such an intimacy to it, and the luxury of waking slowly. Of watching the world wake with you, feeling it rise and stretch and greet you with its muted colors turned richest hues. In the city, early morning breeds a silence matched only by the first snowfall, the first warm weekend days. It is a silence dense with possibility, with novels I will write and miles I will run. There is not much else -- an empty notebook, a fresh cup of coffee, a pen newly uncapped -- that encourages me quite the same.