The world is not yet up. 

It is only you and the sliver of moon and your yoga mat.  

You are careful at first, listening for the little snaps and pops of your joints.  You feel your way through your sun sals one breath at a time, gently courting the golden morning light before it has fully woken; you coax it out of bed as you coax yourself from the warm covers with the promise of clean energy, one breath at a time through the flow of your morning devotion to earth, to sun, to life.

Each day the body is different.  Today it is slow moving, relishing the way the spine elongates in the first downward dog of the day, feeling your palms and heels press against the mat, fingers and toes splayed.  Each day is a new dance, a delicate tango of lunges and bends and twists; the mat is your dance partner, allowing you to fall into the rhythm of your body. Your breath is a soft symphony that greets the day, reminding you that you are alive.  Each day you gently peel the moon from your skin and wrap the sun around you.

It is your moment for you, before the sun rises, the world beings to move, and you get swept up in the current of life.