The dawn is gentle and kind, rising up with a peachy blush. I’ve been awake this week to see the way the sun lights up the horizon with colours that you’d find in the spring, rather than in the winter. It’s almost as if the sun is reminding us that it exists, that behind all the dark mornings and early nightfall, there is a blaze of fire in the sky. I’ve been grateful for that, this week. It has reminded me constantly to take the moment to breathe, to watch the sky, and relax into a new day. I’m finding that as much as I appreciate a long sleep, I also enjoy early mornings much more than I used to. There is always a little time, if you’re not in a rush, to appreciate a moment of quiet.
British people like to talk about the weather. It’s a small-talk topic, something to fall back on when we don’t know what to say. It’s just as well that the weather constantly changes here, on this small island. For the past few days, it’s been frosty and dry but sunny. Tomorrow there will be fog in the morning, mostly overcast for the rest of the day, with cold temperatures. The cold is noticeable now, such a change from the beginning of this month when I could venture outside with just a cardigan and a scarf. Today I noticed how static my hair was, sticking to my coat and face – clinging to me like seaweed. The cold and central heating are pulling and pushing against each other.
Tomorrow is December, and the last day I’ll be 31. It hasn’t been my favourite age, but I’ve decided that 32, by virtue of being divisible by two, is going to be a better year. I have a lot to look forward to, and a lot to get done. I’m glad that, at least, my last week being this age has been a better week than I’ve had for a few months. It started with seeing Fantastic Beasts at the cinema (wonderful), and will end with a birthday dinner at a favourite local restaurant. I’m going away this weekend to see my husband’s family (and attend a wedding), so it looks as if December is going to start how December should always start – with an adventure and a little magic. Watching the dawn this week, with its gentle, blushing kindness and reminder that every day is a new start, has been a privilege.
‘We went down into the silent garden. Dawn is the time when nothing breathes, the hour of silence. Everything is transfixed, only the light moves.’ – Leonora Carrington.