Everything looks better in the morning, even the previous night. However, the previous night looked pretty good anyways.

This is the sort of pretentious blather that my mind runs through when it is waking itself up, which it is attempting to do so right now. It is helped along by a mocha frappuccino; I suppose that the first bits of caffeine are hitting the brain-blood barrier right now as I type.

The crickets are still running on, though their enthusiasm is much less in the mornings than in the night. I find myself worrying about how exhausted they must get with singing 24 hours a day, but in a few months, they will all be dead anyway, from the cold.

On that cheery thought, I will go and try to make something out of the aforementioned morning.