Sometimes, when I go out this time of day and feel that chill that is peculiar to an early morning in winter, I wonder how I got to the point of being nocturnal. I have no memories of being fond of morning, but there have been many periods of my life when I was obliged to rise early, sometimes before dawn. Although I never much enjoyed it, I did become accustomed to it, and found that it was not entirely unpleasant. At ant rate, I have enough experience of rising early to know that this hour feels different when one wakes to it, rather than stays awake all night. I don't think it is merely the difference between being rested and being tired, either, since I was often not all that well rested when I had to get up early, and I'm frequently not particularly tired after staying up all night. No, there's something else, which I can't quite identify. Maybe it is not what has gone before that matters, but what lies ahead. Maybe the morning feels different as a beginning than it does as an end. I don't know. I probably shouldn't even be thinking about this right now. I've never been a morning person.