The year wakes

A gentle glow like the rising sun dispels the darkness with a jolt.

I stare up at the ceiling and stretch. My quilted cave endeavours to keep me trapped in sleep, but I manage to disentangle myself, swing my legs out into the light and stand up. As I creep about and get dressed, I peek outside and can see the silver frost laid across the street. I draw my gaze back inside and find the kettle. A few minutes later, full of energy, my travel mug persuades me to go outside.

I drive along the seafront and park by a paying station; it’s too early for a ticket, thankfully. I gather my gear, topple out of the car, and walk over to the beach. Appeal and excitement wash over the ground as I pick my way across the rippled mud. Gulls frolic in the low light. There are a lack of clouds to capture the morning rays as they sing quietly through the sky, but the horizon is a banner of warm colours, wrapped in winter blues.

Calm and calming, the end of the year wakes.



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