The morning of a librarithon/studyfest is a series of lasts. Last time you look at your sleeping roommate. Last non-Powerbar meal. Last breath of fresh air.
When I did this in winter, it was cold and I was grateful for the anonymity of headphones standing in the wind and snow in front of the library doors. This time, I paced from entrance to entrance, and the waiting crowd was chatty, groups of twos and threes. There were birds were twitting their early mornings out and the daffodils, though snow-beaten, were fragrant.
It reminds me of how much I used to like waking up early for high school or early morning janitorial. The way my mind works in the early morning: quiet (hell is other people at breakfast, as the saying goes), plodding, thoughtful. What first period classes did I have? AP European history. Food Fads. What else? Strangely, I can only remember my second period classes--physiology, sign language, art history. Maybe my mind doesn't work so wonderfully in the morning as I think. But it is a lovely feeling, nonetheless.