My body betrayed me. First morning at home, and by default first day back at work, I was awake at 4.00am, mind kicking into gear soon after. There were two options, try and go back to sleep or surrender and get up. Despite the high value I put on sleep (which may be hard for anyone to believe given the start I’ve had to 2011) I got up.
It was dark. It was pre-kookaburras (who go off just before sunrise) The house was quiet. I indulged in a long shower first, then pulled my blank journal from my bag and set up my desk for writing while the kettle boiled. I wrote the first page; my hand protested and jasmine infused the air from the small steaming cup.
I got my fingers covered in ink – the pages as well. I revelled in the jasmine tea. I got lost in the slip and stroke of the fountain pen running across the page. All was well in the world – a place to pause and just be, between the chaos and fun of holiday and the resposibility and familiarity of home and work.
The smudge of dawn appeared, the kookaburras began to laugh; I decanted the second half of the tea and the words poured forth, the insights bleed out through my pen. The chaos settled and my focus on the world began to twist back into clarity. All was good, all was right in the world.
It doesn’t feel like a morning lost, but one gained. And maybe, just maybe, I might do it again tomorrow.
Image (c) Jodi Cleghorn, 2011