Morning Light

An oak tree filtering sunlight through its lace-patterned leaves. A gorgeous sight at 5AM. Most of London is asleep then. I passed a few old men walking even older dogs as I made my way to the Heath. The young rise late, if they rise at all. I used to stumble into awakeness. Now I fall. The trick is to land on your feet. Today my feet took me to watch the sunrise. All the birds were awake, singing their signature songs. Two foxes watched me pass, their human faces pinched with suspicion. I stepped over shell-less slugs and climbed the too tall hill. A bench welcomed me and my mug of coffee. Still warm. And I watched the sun rise in the distance. A woman appeared on the path behind me, singing off key. Good morning, London.

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