Waking Up

It’s 8am. Coffee in hand, I’m sitting in the garden. A thin layer a cloud is enveloping the sky above me. I’ve put a scarf on my lap to keep some warmth. The thin shorts I grabbed when waking up weren’t suited to a colder morning. A soft breeze is waking me up. Slowly, reminding me I’m alive. Morning dew is lingering. Bare feet on the ground, they’re now wet and cold.

I’m trying to find inspiration. A cat curled up on my lap, resting his little head and paws on my arm is giving me the perfect excuse to keep looking, rather than start typing. This is a slow morning.


The kitten’s jumped off. There’s only so much sleep to have when you could be eating or playing instead. An attention span shorter than mine. Fingers reluctantly warming up on the keyboards, words are coming out sluggishly. Being pulled through layers and layers of cotton fluff. My gaze is hoping from the screen to everything else around me. The cats strolling, the plants that have grown in the last few days, the space around me.


Rays of sunshine are piercing through the clouds now. My back shoulder is warming up. I notice insects, so many insects, quietly fluttering around, waking up too maybe and going about their day. I bring my attention back to my screen once more. And it vanishes again.

The golden sun on my hands and arms makes me comfortable, warmer. My feet aren’t cold anymore, bathed in this unexpected morning light. Birds are chirping. Around our house, doors are squeaking as they’re opened, bins are rattling as they’re being dragged. Neighbours are also going about their day.

Maybe I will too.

But not yet, not so fast.


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