Today is my last day as a writer in residence in Nebraska City. I don’t want to go I love it here.
I love getting up early to write. My favorite hours are the quiet ones when the light changes from grey to white. I’ve learned that at 7:40 every morning the school bus comes to pick up the local kids; I can see it outside my window.
Between 11am and 4pm I can hardly work. I can’t explain this, but I don’t think I’m the only person—who can’t seem to get anything done after lunch.
Later I am redeemed: the evening. Does it have something to do with the light in the sky—this early morning/late evening routine? Does it have to do with the quiet? Maybe it’s primal—the urge to rest in the afternoon; the temptation of a bed in the sun.
I like to watch my mind work even while it is not working. An idea comes during a walk, in a dream. I like to watch myself work, but not so hard. I like to see how I can not hurt over it. I like that the church bells chime on the hour and the train roars through at midday. I like walking away knowing that soon I will miss it and I will be in a rush to get back.
Anne Foster 
Delivering bread must be getting in the way of writing then…when I first started editing film, when of course it was still film, editing just before dawn was just magical. Then, to pause, light the first cigarette of the day along with the first coffee, was almost a religious experience. Now I get up around 4:30, fortunately with no cigarettes but also with no film. Only coffee…
But is it still magical?