I’m not sure if the timezone would matter: There’s something about this hour. If I am working too late into the evening, this may be the death of night; and, if I’ve gone to bed too early, this may be the birth of the day. However the stage is set, though, this hour and I, we meet again.

Reflection, meditation, or prayer. It’s neither a review of the prior day nor is it anticipation of the day ahead. It’s just… 4 A.M. It’s time to wander the house unnoticed. It’s time to sit in a chair in the living room, or perhaps on the patio, and to not even notice the sitting. In an hour, the birds will chirp. In two, the darkness will fade. In four to six, there will be sounds of the coffee grinder or the kettle whistling. I will become what the schedule dictates; whatever this is will disappear.

But by 8 or 9, the daylight will fade, and by 10 P.M. the house will wind down. Perhaps by midnight or 1 A.M., I will make the final rounds, and finally I will witness the world dissolves as the universe appears.

4 A.M. is my touchstone. 4 A.M. is “quality time.”