When I was younger I used to rise before the sun. I would hear the ringing of the alarm clock in the other room and listen to the shuffling that followed as the house filled with the sent of instant coffee. I would pretend to sleep as my mother would come and gently raise me from feigned slumber. It was time for work.
I remember as we drove through cold streets lit with sickly yellow light from old lampposts. I watched as my mother wiped the sleep from her eyes as the radio played the local Spanish station.
I liked to watch the houses. I watched as the army of those who woke before the sun sit in their cars. Watched as the smoke of the exhaust floated up and mixed with the morning mist. I wondered if they also had a sleeping child in the back seat.
I remember pretending to fall asleep as we turned the corner to my grandmothers house. I liked when my mother would carry me in. I used to watch as her headlights disappear as I drank hot chocolate that was always waiting for me as the kitchen filled with the scent of handmade tortillas.
That was years ago. Today I still rise before the sun does. But today I sip on black coffee as I watch the sunrise reminiscing on the good times had.