Bit of a chill, but nothing to complain about this campervan morning. Dull light and a solid bank of cloud above me. Wind blowing through the trees, a few geese pass over heading eastwards, honking their way across the sky. The usual morning crow calls and replies. A lone magpie in the ash. The sun yet to rise, so it’s difficult to make out the shape of the day, though the breeze is gentle, it feels quite temperate and the forecast is for a bright one. Leaves continue to gather on the ground, the breeze sending a few earthwards each time it shimmies through the branches. The traffic is busy already, the soundscape preoccupied with the noise of the far off motorway. What I would call a typical mild suburban autumnal morning. Not a huge amount to report a list of domestics as long as your arm and some other stuff on top preoccupy the brain a little. I seem to have hit a series of what Katherine May calls “The terrible threes”. Waking up at that time in the morning, the brain fully functioning and already making plans for the day. Only to look at the clock and see it’s 3am. It’s happened for a couple of nights now and the repercussion’s are a brain fog later in the day. And desperate attempts to not look at my phone and of course to go back to sleep, usually futile. Sometimes I even get up, but not this morning. They will soon pass they usually do. The day already organised at three, means at least I know what’s happening already and can sit and drink in the morning, whilst hopefully staying awake. The sky is opening up, cloudless and blue, the promise of a brighter day beckons, lovely days people.
“ Our personal winters are so often accompanied by insomnia: perhaps we’re drawn towards that unique space of intimacy and contemplation, darkness and silence, without really knowing what we’re seeking.” Katherine May.
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