No doubt about it, I’m a morning person – always have been, always will be. Although I admire the idea of sleeping in, and sometimes express envy at those who seem to do it regularly and easily, the truth of it is that I don’t feel I’m missing out by not indulging in more sleep. Instead, on the rare occasions when I have risen after the sunrise, the overall feeling is a combined sense of loss and disappointment at having missed out.
I don’t actually need to see the sun rise, but I like to watch the darkness turn to light, and listen as the silence becomes filled in by the sounds of waking and routine, whether it’s street-sweepers or birds.
I like that hour (or two) of aloneness. It’s peaceful, the morning is mine, all mine, just for this time; it’s seems to offer a promise of ‘something’, hopefully amazing. An ellipsis of expectation. Admittedly, the days don’t always turn out to be the best ever, but it’s the feeling of hope that I cherish for just that hour.
I did my usual stroll yesterday morning, through the city, to Chinatown, then Surry Hills, Darlinghurst, then back to the city via Hyde Park. Going through the park was a foolish decision because the hay fever, with which I’d been struggling for the last couple of hours or so, really ramped up, and I sneezed my way through the park seemingly non-stop. I’m amazed I managed to take these photos – I think I held my breath throughout – and when it was all done, inhaled and sneezed at the same time, sneezed some more, and ran to find the closest pharmacy for some anti-histamines. (None were open because it was still only about 8am but thankfully they sell them at supermarkets these days and of course those are always open!)
