Beeping is the first sound I hear in the morning.
Then the sound of my quiet sleepy moan.
The sheets falling off my body, my clothes falling on.
My footsteps to the door. Footsteps out the door.
And as that door swings closed, the sounds of the morning erupts in a cacophony of music.
Birds. Bugs. The wind in the trees.
And my breath as my feet hit the asphalt.
Sometimes I swear I can hear the sun itself yawn as it touches the clouds.
I can hear the dew drops whisper to each other.
I can hear the conversations of the stars as they head to bed beyond the horizon.
And I run in the early morning.