Longing and luxury.

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It was to a tumult of bird song that I woke this morning at around 5 o’clock. The sky was painfully blue, so pure in its blueness I could have stuck my tongue out and licked it even though the sky doesn’t really exist as a concrete object - that’s how I feel about myself at times too, visible but without material substance. The branches of trees swayed a bit in the soft morning moving of the air, and they looked odd from the angle I was seeing them as I lay on my mattress on the floor. We can’t be bothered with actual beds - that way we don’t have to vacuum up all the dust and fluff that gathers under beds. The fresh sweetness pouring through the open window was soon challenged by the smell of freshly brewed coffee that floated up from downstairs were my early-rising wife was busying herself with the first brew of the day and the making of fresh scones. A day of fresh fruit and sunshine lies ahead of me, with cold cider in the afternoon, and for dinner I’ll serve grilled mackerel on a bed of puttanesca sauce and pretend that I don’t live in Ireland.