The ball that was retrieved in the middle of the night has been in play for some time. The dog having woken me at two, decided to wake me again at five. The low growling and quiet woofs were obviously designed to inform me that the flat was under attack … in this case, probably by a rabbit or a moth or some such dastardly creature.
Now, the trouble with five o’clock is that by the time you are up and awake enough to realise it is too early, you are awake enough to realise it is too late to go back to bed. The stars were amazing, the sky crystal clear, so we compromised and went for a walk instead.
By the time we got back, the first blush of colour was touching the horizon. The roads were still quiet and I reckoned that my son’s fish would be awake enough to be fed if I went to the supermarket first. The five mile drive on silent roads into a pastel sky had me kicking myself… I should have brought the camera.
The fish were fed, parcels stowed in the car and I headed back home. The roads were waking now, but most of the traffic was heading into town, not out to the villages. The sun finally crested the horizon behind me, casting a magical light on the world. The car was first gilded, then glowed orange, before remembering it was green. Trees made of copper dripped silver dew. The great, dark shapes of ravens caught fire as they flew into the sun and a buzzard rose up in front of the car, eyes reflecting flame as it sailed over the windscreen, eye to eye with me.
Yet, as I walked into the garden and opened the door for the dog… I was still in time to catch the sunrise and see the kites rise to greet the day. Magic.
France & Vincent 