I wake up at 5am, after four and half hours sleep, which is not so bad for me. I don't remember dreaming, though it may have been a dream that woke me.
In this dark hour of morning, I wish there was someone to talk to. Someone to share coffee with... Someone to share this hour between the long night, and the day.
I'm in no hurry for the sun to rise, as I sit here in this in-between time, when there are no worries lingering from the daylight hours.
The streets are quiet. The wind is blowing; the temperture, frigid at 24°. Winter comes early, as if this is Canada.
I like to read about the weather affecting my online friends... at least 90% of them living in Canada, from Nova Scotia to Vancouver, and many places in between.
Forty years ago it was a place where young men would flee, in order to avoid the draft. I remember hearing that they would never be able to return to America once they did that. It seemed to be such a drastic thing at the time. Not so any more. Maybe it is just age that makes it seem less important. Maybe it's the apathy left over from eight years of the Bush administration, and more war, albeit without a draft.
The coffee gets cold so fast. I drink it black with lemon zest, having running out of milk and sugar.
The morning sky is still dark.