Best part of the day some say and I’d wholeheartedly agree with them ,
Pre dawn daunders , where therapy lies in the streets.
I go to bed early the night before like a kid on Christmas Eve already giddy with the thought of what lies ahead , what treats the darkened streets will have in store for me this time.
The alarm softly fumbles its way through my subconscious until I awaken from my slumber , the dark silhouettes of the trees outside my bedroom window stand silently still like tall somber guardians of my back garden, no movement, no wind.
The kettle bubbles with unbridled joy as it reaches fever pitch.The spoon cheerfully pings off my coffee cup carrying the proclamation to all who would listen that my morning ritual is ready to be consumed!
With the door gently closed behind me I step out into the cold night air, air that always seems to be cleaner than its daytime counterpart , fresh and unburdened by the drama of human activity.
The landscape appears new each time I descend the front steps and out onto the street , almost like mother nature has taken an iron and smoothed out all the crinkles and creases of the day before, only to be ravished once more.
The man on the moon shines his light brightly . On any other night he’d be competing against the warm orange glow from the regimental street lamps but not this morning , his full smiling face bids me an unworried hello as he slowly slides from view as if proudly complimenting himself on another successful graveyard shift.
The adventure begins , abandoned streets and muffled cries from the nocturnal ones are all I see and hear . Five, seven maybe ten miles who knows where the tarmacadam will lead me, uphills and downhills , perhaps a field or two or an eerie village yet to waken from its nightly spell.
Wherever I wander I will treasure the time and bask in its memory for the remaining hours of the precious 24 the good Lord has granted me .
