Discombobulated, but in a good way.

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There was a fireball sun hanging low in the cloudless autumn sky early this morning. It was a cold sun. I couldn’t see it because it was hidden behind the garage wall, but it was sending its rays into the garden through the now leafless trees to colour everything orange. While I waited for a pot of coffee to brew I looked out of the kitchen window into the garden and thought how much it looked like a hot, roaring furnace. For a moment it was as if all of life, all my experiences thus far, had been distilled down into one moment of emotion: childhood holidays, graveyards, lying in bed with flu, schoolwork I couldn’t manage, all the books I have read, the most decadent tiramisu imaginable, long train rides through snowy nights - all summed up by the influence an invisible sun had upon my garden. Within half an hour, I was down by the shore wrapped up in my black pea coat and scarf, kicking stones with my polished boots and enjoying the cold air coming off the sea that was turning my nose and the tips of my ears numb. Do you have mornings like these? Maybe you prefer a lie in.