I love it.
Seeing the sunrise never gets old.
The smell of the fresh coffee I'm brewing makes me smile, and I fall in love with the way that the floorboards creak in the silence as I make my way to the window to peek out again.
The silence.
It's deafening.
My otherwise noisy house is still asleep. Just me, surrounded by complete stillness.
After finishing my cup of coffee. I step out of the house in my pajamas to take pictures of the beautiful sunrise.
There must be a hidden metaphor somewhere, that photographs never capture the reality of a scene. They don't tell you what the moment felt like or smelled like. Or exactly how those colors plastered themselves across the sky. They don't tell how the frost felt as it nipped at my bare feet and how it casted fairy dust over the rooftops and grass. They don't tell how the birds sing as they fly over up above on their yearly road trip down south.
There is a certain magic in the fact that words, photographs or music will only capture most of the moments...
...not all of the moments.
