I don't typically oppose mornings.
In fact, I used to love them. I used to think that 5am was a magical time.
The world was misty, covered in a snoozy haze of pinks and greys.
The grass held drops of dew, in tiny spheres. I thought they were fairy eggs.
5am used to have a sense of coolness to it that couldn't be felt any other time of day,
because life was just rising, waking from sleep.
The magic's faded, I believe.
Now...morning means don't talk to me. I just want coffee. Hot, steaming coffee.