The morning vampire

image: Ignam Ogam for Unsplash

My neighbors all think I'm a vampire.

I live on Cape Cod, the land of sun and sand, and most of the people around me are absolutely here for it. My seasonal next-door neighbor routinely takes all sorts of paraphernalia down to the beach where he happily spends the day. Others sit on lawn chairs sipping cocktails in the sun, or watch children run shrieking around the pool.

 I don't. I work, which for me entails sitting at my desk for long uninterrupted periods of time. I may live in a vacation spot, but I'm not on vacation. Plus, I don’t love the sun (I’m the only person I know who owns—and uses—a parasol). Plus, I'm an introvert and am happiest when I'm alone—preferably sitting at said desk.

That’s a lot of pluses to say that anyone glancing at my cottage isn’t likely to see me. And so a few have come to refer to me as the vampire.

What they don't see is that I get up at five o'clock every morning, my favorite moment of night-into-day, and that’s my time to shine. When the sky starts to lighten, I head out into my garden. I tweak the weeds and fill the birdfeeder. I sing. I dance. I sit amongst my flowers with my first coffee and watch the sun rise. By the time any of my seasonal neighbors is up and about, I'm back at my desk starting my writing for the day.

Of course, I know the difference. While vampires—like me—don’t love the sunshine, they are generally abroad deep in the night. And I cannot say that my activities are particularly nefarious; they lean more towards the silly end of things. But I’m a longtime Edward Gorey fan, and I rather cherish the notion of myself as one of his characters, slinking about when no one else is around, alone in the night air.

Is there such a thing as a morning vampire? If so, sign me up.

image: Kateryna Hiznitsova for Unsplash