The Cottage

This morning is waking up with you. It's warm skin under heavy covers and cold breath that hangs in the air. It's half unbuttoned shirts, dirty paintbrushes and little lights that look like stars.

This morning is saying goodbye to you in the dark, beneath the streetlight. This morning is mittens, thick scarf, woollen socks, knitted hat. This morning is cold kisses.

This morning is two sets of four paws through frosty fields. It's early morning trawlers on the horizon and wheeling, shrieking gulls. It's the sound of waves rolling over the reef. It's lone footsteps on empty roads.

This morning is the first glimpse of sunrise. It's the creeping pink beneath a heavy blanket of cloudy night. It's the final stars glowing behind dusty dark. It's the sea slowly distinguishing from inky sky.

This morning is the still, cold air that has settled so silently upon us. It's the slow, steady light, rising from it's slumber. It's my vision slowly becoming clear. It's the condensation on my scarf. It's my lack of knowledge and disregard for passing time.

This morning is my self awareness, detachment from reality and easy peace.

This morning is the calm in the chaos.