I could not sleep last night.
I woke up at 4am, dreading something or other. I got up, pulled on a jersey, and went to go sit on our roof. My mum was up early to work. It was a cold morning, so she gave me her blanket.
Sitting on the roof in the early hours of the morning feels like being in on a secret.
Lights are just beginning to turn on down in the valley. It is nice to think of all those people- making coffee, washing faces, cracking eggs, touched by the lingering steam of a shower. It reminds me of a story book I grew up with about a small boy and his grandpa waking up early to go fishing.
There is something quite tender about getting ready in the dark.
The birds have started singing. The streetlights down the road are still on the blink. The neighbour’s TV is flickering in their window.
The first people are beginning to leave to leave for work in the valley. Curfew has been lifted. The lights from their cars drift softly down deserted streets, like ships on a calm sea.
I used to love waking up early as a kid. I would watch movies in those stolen hours before the day. Everything you do this early feels riddled with purpose. It is an early start for a long drive with your outfit for the trip already laid out in your room and a bag packed by your bed.
But I could not sleep last night because I had been drinking.
Things never quite end when the night leaks into the day.
I feel caught in a run-on sentence, waiting for the sun to rise.