The Blue Hour

I like getting up early; it comes naturally. The atmosphere is calm. The mornings are mild and fresh. Before the day begins, the air seems blue and pure to me, sometimes tinged with pink. The colors are softened, and so are the sounds.

It was as if the night had done a cleansing while we slept.

In the morning, I make tea. I drink it still half asleep, my hair a mess. Yuzu, my cat, demands cuddles after receiving her food. She snuggles up to me. She considers this moment of solitude to be hers too.

Alone, as one can be, with a hot cup in one's hands and a cat against oneself.

Early on, nobody expects anything from us. The day hasn't quite started yet.

I love that liminal space between night and day. That moment when you can watch the light change, drink tea, and produce nothing particularly useful.

And the feeling that goes with it. Calm.

A few minutes later, everything resumes. Outside, the birds begin to sing and the first cars can be heard. The phones ring. The to-dos.

The light becomes brighter.

The day begins.

Sixtine