Morning is my time of day. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. (Well except for the teenage years when I elevated sleeping late to an art form.)

There is something wonderful about the start of the day, the unexpressed potential of the hours ahead. It seems I do my best thinking then, and that is also why it is a good time for a walk.

That is exactly what I did Monday, walked and thought about all the beauty surrounding me. The air felt more crisp than cold, carrying just enough of a chill to wake me up and set me moving.

Putting one foot in front of the other, I headed a short piece up the red clay road feeling the pull of the muscles in my legs as the incline increased. Along the way, I noticed tiny yellow and purple flowers blooming among the weeds, making a last hurrah before colder weather puts them to rest.

On my way down the hill, I noticed tracks in the dirt probably made by the dog from up the way that comes to visit after dark. Rounding the curve toward home, I caught sight of the sun sparkling on the lake and picked up my pace.

Mist rose from the water as I reached the shoreline. The sound of my feet crunching in the fallen leaves startled a pair of ducks sending them flying and quacking across the water.

Heading back toward the dirt road hill, I saw deer tracks in the sand. They come in the deep night to eat the acorns and to munch on the potato vines in my flowerbeds. Their prints in the soft earth are the only hint of their nocturnal visits.

The warmth of the sun on my face made me smile as I turned into the deep shade of the road. All the sounds of the morning rose around me, the chatter of squirrels, the song of a bird calling its mate, the far off bark of a dog.

Words of a song I learned in Sunday school popped into my head.

“… all nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres…”

“The world is singing, “I whispered, “singing a song welcoming a new day.”

I thought about how often I miss hearing the song because I am “doing” life instead of taking a moment to experience the “being” of living.

“It’s there all the time,” I thought. “I just don’t stop to listen and appreciate the wonder.”

Making my last circle beside the water, the light sparkling on the surface was stronger as the day came full awake. In the distance, I heard the sound of someone hammering and the buzz of a boat motor.

I slowed my pace, wanting to stretch out the early morning, hold on to the peace and possibility of this new day.

Morning is my time, I think, because it is a reminder that as long as I, as we all, wake to a new day, there is hope and yet unexpressed potential. That is enough to get me moving and to fill me with appreciation every morning.