Morning Glory

Sunlight crests the hilltops, its first beams making their way into the bus through the rear window. I poke my head out from underneath my cocoon of sleeping bag and blankets and squint towards the general direction of the clock. 8:30am. The view outside is obscured by a fine layer of frost that has taken up residence on the window panes. It's cold.

I pull my pants out from the layer of warmth between the sleeping bag and comforter and quickly put them on. Next comes the long johns, t-shirt, jacket, and winter coat -- my daily attire thus far. I water the leaves in front of Herbert and then fire up the stove for the morning oatmeal. The stove hisses lightly as it goes through its priming ritual, and then quickly brings the ice-cold cup of water to a boil. My hands hover next to the pot, soaking up as much of the excess heat as possible.

With breakfast out of the way, I make my way into the pizza shop. By now it's around 9:00am and the parking lot is abuzz with the rock climbers' morning routines. Inside the shop it feels like a ski resort: people bundled up in their warmest winter gear, hands cupped closely around a cup of joe, a drone of conversation and laughter over Belgian waffles and breakfast burritos. The only thing missing is the smell and sound of a roaring fire. I grab my $1.00 coffee and take a seat at the only open bench and begin to peruse the latest edition of Climbing. Even if you wanted to read about or do something different around here, you'd fail; climbing is a way of life, and the environment is saturated accordingly.

I step outside once again, and even though the sun has made itself fully known, there's still a crisp chill in the air. As I walk back to the bus to brush my teeth and arrange my gear, I say good morning to a few passersby. I notice something concordant amongst all of them: a single drop of clear snot clinging for dear life to the tips of their noses, barely viscous enough to remain seated in its inverted perch. I reach up and with a swipe of my gloved finger, realize I'm a member of this elite club as well.

Smearing the cold, dry paste onto my toothbrush, I give my teeth a bath, all the while admiring the beauty that surrounds me. The sky is blue with only a few wisps of cirrus, the rocks in the west fully illuminated with a yellowish hue, and the barren trees casting their long shadows onto the colorful foliage below. No, it's not a life of luxury per se, but it has its perks.