Photography

Colours

dawn 003

In spite of the big, thick quilt in which I was cocooned the cold woke me early this morning. Opening my eyes the moon was sailing silver past the bedroom window, perfectly framed in the triangular pane. About half past four, I judged, by the quality of darkness. Even I was not about to get out of bed at that time voluntarily. I snuggled back down.

Thoughts kept chasing, nagging reminders of the to-do list for the day and the time lost to a blasé incompetence yesterday that must be made up. A lot to do before I leave for the long drive north and only part of a day to do what remains. The phone, always beside me in case of emergencies, kept pinging softly, but I could ignore that by wrapping the duvet round my ears. I couldn’t ignore the sound of a yawning dog, the faint serial thud of cushions being thrown off the sofa downstairs and the movement as Ani comes out of her nightly nest. How does she know I am awake? Every time…

dawn 008

Reluctantly I grab the thick, pink dressing gown and wander downstairs. There are owls hooting as I open the back door and let the icy air start its journey round my ankles as Ani wanders out to greet the morning. Coffee, computer, head in hands at the state of the inbox again… where do they all come from? For the next hour I answer mail and fuel the day with caffeine.

The dog has, after a brief wander in the garden, gone back to bed. She can open the doors, but can I get her to close them behind her? Shower… the water’s still cold… dressed, walk, then back to coffee and the screen again. It is still dark and the mist is too thick, almost fog. Dawn will not be its normal self this morning.

For much of every day when I am at home, the world is square, bounded by the edge of a computer screen, within the square room, with a world seen only through the square edges of the window frame within the fenced confines of the garden. Yet every so often wonder taps on my window and calls me to look. Birds sing, kites call, the colour of roses and leaves and the shifting, ever changing light.

The light had turned to pastel softness and, looking up, I saw the tip of the sun emerge from a foggy bed. Grabbing the camera I hung out of the back bedroom window, watching the disc of the sun open a sleepy eye as the world shifted from palest lilac to a golden mist over the fields. Shadows became visible, becoming distant trees and then the world turned to gold, just for a moment.

I could have been asleep, should have been asleep…but I am glad I had been called to wake by the cold fingers of morning to be part of such beauty. Perhaps life is not bounded by the straight lines of our man-made lives, but by the shifting colours of night and day and the ever-changing light.

dawn 022

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