5am

Out there, on a parallel 5am, someone is putting on their slippers and stealing the morning. The milky coffee, the silent yawning stretches, the reading of yesterday’s news waiting for the toast to pop. Out there, a city is not yet awake but a grocer goes through his paces at the familiar sound of shop window shutters rolling up. A baker drinks her espresso and relaxes to the smell of buttery croissants. Out there, a road sweeper is paving the way for the day ahead.

Here, there is a foggy mist rising from the fields promising a warm day in Hearthill. I have awoken naturally without prompting from a hungry baby or my farmer’s alarm and so I steal a solitary hour to get ready for the day. My only companions thusfar are the swallows outside, who, in fairness, are no imposition. The mist is rising and the light will soon begin to awaken my merry band and so in leaving you, I luxuriate for a while longer in the 5am shuffle that brings the world to it’s feet.

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