A Love Letter to the First Bright Mornings
When I wake on endless rat-grey London mornings with only the feeblest excuse for light leaking through the gap in the curtains, nothing feels worth getting up for. Winter’s sleepiness still hangs heavy, and bed, a refuge from the cold world outside, is the only logical place to be.
But, this week, for the first time in a long time, the gap in the curtains spilt gold.
Above the daily race to school, the sun hangs bright in a pale blue sky, and, after the concrete clouds that have sealed the city in these last few months, everything looks weirdly weightless. Walking home, I feel a delicious warmth on the back of my neck (the caress of sun heat no radiator can imitate) and, instead of rushing for the kettle, linger a moment on the doorstep.
As I sit at my desk, the lure of the duvet and the hot bath upstairs is gone, and it’s the siren song of sunshine and the whole big world out there I must resist instead.