Between

It is dawn. This morning has been waiting for you, with words hovering above your bed. She beckons softly, whispering of places and times you have not traveled, with talents and people you have not met. If you trust her, if you cast sleep aside and follow to the old wooden desk in the corner, you will find she has prepared for you a feast.

Stories spread out lavishly before you-with phrases rich and brimming with potential. Every character seasoned to perfection. The metaphors are warm and light. Bittersweet dialogues percolate at steady paces. Adjectives spill their amber sweetness onto this open plate they call craft.

And all the while she stands at silent attention, urging you to partake, to dive into this sweet hour of nourishment.

You do not have much time before the earth starts spinning again. She does her best to stave off the chaos, but eventually her stance will buckle and the noise will come crashing through your bedroom window and the celebration will be swept away. The phone will ring, the cars will hum, the neighbors will yell, the cats will fight, the pipes will roar…all forces that will prove too much for this delicate moment.

The day ahead will be long and you will have to search amidst the teeming confusion to find even pieces of the splendor that is before you now.

So quick, pick up your pen and begin. There is not much time left, but take what you can.

This golden hour is the writing hour.
And she waits each day for you.