Grey Morning
She leans out the window and takes a drag from her cigarette. It is somewhere between the hours of four and five in the morning, though if you asked her, she could not tell you where. Below, on the garden path, the solar lights flicker on and off in the grey dawn. In the distance sky and ground blur, horizons merged by cloud and darkness.
She pulls in the smoke, relishes the burn on her tongue and the heat sliding down her throat. Birdsong plays lightly on her ears as she scribbles away on a pad of ruled paper. Her hand is in perpetual motion. The pages lift at the corners in the wind coming in through the window. Cigarette ash falls onto the page. She balances the fag between her lips and brushes it off, leaving scratches, traces of ash on her work.
She grumbles. Rubs her eyes. She has been awake all night.
The leaves from the trees roar in the wind, and with the wind comes the dawn. She shivers beneath her oversized sweatshirt.
She can smell it in every breath, it is carried in the crisp air.
Possibility.
She watches the sky, the amorphous grey cloud (singular) and seagulls moving amongst it. It is light enough now, to write without her yellow lamp, and she leans over to switch it off. She checks the time on her cracked clock face: 4.51 AM.
It feels like she can do anything, unlimited in this dream. The transition between night and day becomes a kind of purgatory. She wiggles her toes that are starting to go to sleep, puts out her cigarette, and smiles. At times like this, it is good to be alive.
On her nightstand an empty can of beer and a half drunk coffee sit together, unfamiliar neighbours. It is 5:03 AM and maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.
Early morning mist settles over the houses, and it begins to softly rain.
Sorry for the brief hiatus, I’m back baby! I thought I’d set up a cheeky link to my PayPal, so if you like what you read (and can afford it) you can buy me a drink!
Thank you so much for reading!
