A 7.6km cycle at 6am isn’t really my idea of fun – but it has given me some precious quiet morning time, and for that I’m thankful. It’s been a while since I’ve been rowing, and have consequently avoided both the joys and frustrations of a team sport (and an outdoor sport for that matter, because it felt too windy to row). But above and beyond the rhythmic clunking up and down the river, the occasional early mornings hold a charm of their own. There’s something special about floating effortlessly along (it’s an happy downhill coast there) in the magical minutes of half-light, accompanied by the music of the dawn chorus – little birds singing their hearts out to greet spring mornings. The little children of the earth rise at dawn, and make quite a show of it, and I’m their humble audience. The music setlist of the rosiness-inducing, uphill pant back is also one of wakening; this time though, it’s the deeper rumbling of machinery, lights flickering on in the neat rows of houses under the unruly trees and their now-silent inhabitants, the scent of bacon-and-eggs wafting through the air.
The fresh morning shower, the steaming cup of ginseng tea oddly paired with a bowl of crumbly milky muesli, the feel-good stretch, the bundling up in blankets make for a cosy morning. A book would complete the picture, but there’s work to do, so I’ll scoot. (Sigh, what an unquenchably dreamy little spirit I am ><)