The light of this morning, is kind. The house at last awash with air. I feel on this breeze a promise of rain, predicted in the atmosphere.
From my armchair, I am party to the chatter, the calls of other early birds I've heard many in the five minutes since I awoke. though hours since any human spoke, I hear the call of doves, and small voices of finches that chime out as I pour water from the comforting spout of a noisy kettle.
I am caught in the through-breeze, the night complete, the morning at peace.
The heat of yesterday has ebbed away. All is ahead. The paper still unread, the day unwritten,
I will inhabit the early morning, bathed in gentle light, and caressed in the through-breeze, as I sip my tea.
