I would gladly take 4 AM over midnight anytime.
And I think I know why.
The day, in its infancy, is incredibly promising.
It's like every kid could be the president, a millionaire, a rock star, or a big leaguer.
By noon, every kid could be the governor, relatively well-off, play Saturday nights at local bars, and be on a Triple A farm team.
By suppertime, every kid realizes that:
"My tax money is funding this train wreck",
"Ain't no way Social Security will be there",
"Wanna karaoke to the oldies?", and
"I gotta find the remote before the game starts".
Yep. Mornings. Gotta love 'em.
This morning is one of the most Special Mornings of the Year.
Well, at least up here.
It's Opening Day of the Gun Deer Season.
It's now 5:30 and there's a pickup-a-second driving by on the bypass through town. Not that it takes much to bypass town. Rush hour, at its absolute worse, is about 3 ½ minutes long.
I sip my Elixir watching the string of pickups glide by. At this hour, the boys are doing one of two things.
They either have a long way to go to get to their stands or they're trying to get the better seats over at Leif's where the air smells like bacon, coffee, men, and thick wool clothing.
And today, at this exact minute, is fraught with possibilities.
Whether drinking gas-station coffee in a pickup heading for the stand or exchanging balderdash with hunting buddies around the breakfast tables at Leif's, there's a ten-point buck out there with their name on it.
Or maybe even a twelve-pointer.
The reality of being bone-chilled-tired and eating hamburger for supper isn't even on their radar.
And that's just how it should be when you get up early.
Have fun hunting the dream, guys.
Be careful out there.
Bring back a big one, eh?