I woke up at 4.43am. It's getting to be a regular pattern these days, with Little One and all. I could go back to sleep, and sometimes I do. And other times, I check the time on my phone - and a torrent of world stuff rushes in, too seething, jumbled and anxiety-inducing to ignore. On those days, sleep slips out of reach. It washes away in the flood of stuff, or just retreats into the night. "Sommeil casse" as they say in Mauritius. "My sleep broke". It sounds more lyrical in Kreol/French. Like tiny pieces of sleep crumbling and breaking away until you reach a state of wakefulness.
I head towards the kitchen. A lizard laughs, languid. Indi-Girl, my beloved woofer, stirs and gives me the once-over, and goes back to sleep. I like to think she's checking to make sure I'm ok. She could just as easily be checking to see why I'm disturbing her sleep. But I'll take my interpretation with a single-shoulder shrug and a smile.
I make a cup of tea. Through the kitchen windows, the world lightens from night to grey. The sky is overcast this morning, just as it was yesterday. It could be symbolic of the current state of the world, but I push my thoughts in a different direction. The air is lush with birdsong symphony. So many different songs. The more I focus my ears on listening, the more there is to hear. It's quite amazing. Awe-inspiring. I'm grateful that, even though we're in suburbia - you could even call it inner city suburbia - there is birdlife and nature around us.
I curl on the couch. Sip at my tea. A snippet of time to let my thoughts wander.
I draw a love heart on my bit of social media sand. I imagine the sun shining on it in the early morning light. And then I stand back and watch as waves run up to wash it away.
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