I knew I was awake, although my eyes were still tightly shut, and I knew instinctively that it was still very early. The room was still dark. This has been my pattern for a couple of weeks. Extra early morning wake ups with lots of thoughts buzzing are usually a sign that my brain is getting too full and that the cognitive load is on the verge of tipping over.
I stretch, careful not to make too much noise, lift my legs off the bed and feel for my spectacles on my night stand. I put them on although I am still straining to open my eyes. I slip on my slippers, pick up my phone and tiptoe out the door.
As soon as I head downstairs, I feel the dampness in the air. This month isn't called 'moldy March' for nothing. The humidity is high, the cooler temps have been gone for a week and the early morning is beginning to carry the weight of the moisture in the air as the weather slowly gets warmer.
Down stairs it is still darkish. The day is breaking and soon it will be daylight. As a walk across the kitchen to put the kettle on, I can feel the floor tiles- they feel cold and damp. I make myself a cup of (herbal) tea. The New York Times shouts out the news of the last so many hours - more destruction and more chaos. I sit down on my side of the couch, curl my legs under me and start looking through my latest handicraft. The children will soon be up and the day will start. For the next little while I will be able to sip my tea, work on my afghan blanket and enjoy the peace of the moment.
With the world turning in side out, there is a comfort in the predictability of the early morning. Comfort also in the dawn of each new day. In knowing that the seasons will change, the cold winter blending into a damp and moldy spring.
For the next four weeks everything will slowly get covered in a thin green fuzz, if not well ventilated. I make a mental note to remember to take out the dehumidifiers. I get back to reading my pattern and enjoying the last few days when it is still cool enough to enjoy dawn without turning on the fan.
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