I once wrote a story about a young girl whose favorite hobby was waking up before sunrise to sneak to the mysterious forest across the street. It was during these times, when the air was still, the dew was fresh, the town was quiet, and the sun was rising, that this girl felt most happy to be alive.
This was one of the few times I didn't heavily inject my own personality into my fictional character. I drew from what others had said about the tranquility of early mornings because I certainly had no memories to draw from. I much prefer to experience mornings with my eyes closed.
But there are times that I wish I could truly enjoy a sunrise and ponder on the symbolism of each new day. I wish I could drink in the fresh morning air instead of the air that's already gone stale. I agree that mornings are beautiful, but I am not genetically programmed to appreciate them fully.
My idea of a good sunrise is when the curtains are closed and I am still blissfully asleep. My first thought when I am awakened with a sing-songy "Rise and shine!" is kill. Simply put, mornings are not pleasant. Even when I am forced to rise with the sun I try to prolong my sleeping time in the shower. I am in too big of a hurry (because I woke up late) to enjoy my surroundings. I yawn repeatedly until at least 10 a.m. No one ever gets a cheery "Good morning!" from me. Waking up is a demon I have to battle for several hours every day while the poetry-inspiring morning quietly slips away.
Now, sunsets, on the other hand--those I can appreciate.