Left to my own devices, my natural rhythms will draw me to wake with the first natural light of day. It gently nudges me to wakefulness, as bit by bit, the light eases the darkness aside. I turn to the sunlight.
Emerging from the sanctuary of my home, the air still damp and cool from the departing night, each morning I seek the sunrise, its golden warmth gilding tree branches and dew-dropped blades of grass over which I marvel and wonder. And though the days which start grey and soft hold a separate beauty, I miss that sun-kissed welcome, because my morning ritual is to turn to the sunlight.
Truth be told, the harsh brightness of midday causes me to turn away my face, to shadow my eyes, to seek cool shade, but even then, I bask in a space filled with (somewhat filtered) natural light. I turn to the sunlight.
Like moth to flame, I am entranced by the glory of sunset. The rich, vibrant colors stacked upon the horizon, as the fireball sun sets the clouds aflame, almost as if they glow from within. I am awestruck, no two ever alike, but always amazing in their beauty, and I turn to the sunlight.
As the stars wink on in the deepening night and whatever piece of the moon rises to cast silver light over a world tucking in for rest, I douse the light. Rolling to my side, my face, cradled by the cool pillow beneath my cheek, turns to the place where, once again, there will be sunlight.
For the days I want to write but need that extra push, and, just as much, for the days when the prompt inspires me, all on its own, whether I need extra motivation or not.