Morning

After sleeping, and waking now and then, I got out of bed and looked out over my bit of the world: pink clouds reflected light from the sun still below the horizon, thin, leafless branches on the tree in the garden over the road were motionless, parked cars were white with frost.

I got dressed, warmly, put my camera in my coat pocket and chose the thin, black leather gloves – easier to handle the camera with than the old, ski gloves I usually choose, they once kept my fingers warm in minus 25°C, although, recently, they seem to have lost some of their insulation properties, or maybe it’s the government’s reduction-of-bodily-functions-efficiency-in-the-elderly programme, again.

But I can still ride my bike. Although I did struggle a bit on the short, steep slope up to the wide, raised pathway that leads to the Langstone Harbour west shore ‘promenade’. That sounds rather grand for an unpaved track but, especially on a sharp, clear morning like this morning, the view across the harbour is lovely, and the unpaved track a promenade.

I parked my bike and climbed down, over the granite boulders that defend the shore from waves that break in strong, easterly winds, to the beach. I placed my feet carefully, and used my hands. The rocks were slippery, covered in frost.

The water was still. Floating seabirds were still. On the far side of the harbour, trees were dark against clouds that were tinged with light from the sun which was rising behind them.

The perfectly reflected, pink sky turned, gradually, beautifully, to red.

I clambered back up to the path and saw, just above the trees, the full moon gently falling from the sky.

Now my fingers were cold. I rode home at high (for me) speed.

I put the bike away, walked up the garden path and into the kitchen and felt the warmth of the house wrap around me.