This won’t be literary gold, but I’m writing it down. Something about morning makes it easier to do so. Maybe it’s that I haven’t had time to spend too much time inside my head since returning from the clouds of dream.

Early morning and late night share so much. The ones I’m speaking to are quiet, solitary things—free from the myriad stimulae of life—when you are left alone to ponder. These brief periods are good for the soul in a way that simply taking time during the day can’t match. Maybe it’s simple biology, and circadian rythms can explain it all away. The cause doesn’t matter much. What does is the differences between these dawning, dusky stretches.

Morning seems so pregnant with hope, possibilities, and promise. To continue the cliches, it’s a time for new beginnings. A time when nothing in our daily lives has been given the opportunity to chain us and limit posibility.

Nights. Nights are more bracing. They are times for reflection on the existent&emdash;on the bounded possibility that is our knowledge and resources and environment. They are times of wanton productivity, but it’s less a function of hope and more of desperation. There is so little time to achieve what we’re capable of building.

Ultimately it’s abundance contrasted with scarcity. Both are motivators, but the qualities of the products differ wildly. I’ve been thinking about these states of mind pretty much constantly as I’ve been trying to find a new job. More to come on that.

So what’s the point? I’m not sure there is one, to be honest. Does there need to be? Sometimes all we need is to start.