I’m not sure if it’s the enduring silence, the rush of ideas still trying to settle, or being alone, but for some reason I’ve been finding it difficult to sleep since arriving. This morning I awoke at 4am and couldn’t get back to sleep at all. So instead, I continued reading Wonder by R.J Palacio, one of my ‘research’ books for this trip. An incredible novel, if you haven’t yet read it.
At 5am the birds started singing a beautiful melodic tune which seemed just for me (I’m certain anyone else on the island was fast asleep). That’s when I noticed the silhouettes swooping and diving past the window and I forgot all about reading.
I can’t see a thing without my glasses or contact lenses but one thing was for sure, the birds were feeding while flying & singing so they had to be swallows or swifts or house martins. Curiosity got the better of me, so by 5.30am I was up, dressed & out in the still morning air.
Have you ever walked around an island at 5.30am when the rest of the world is sleeping? Liberating is one word that comes to mind. Grounding is another.
By this time, the swallows had stopped feeding and the gulls were out. There were some loud birds making a crazy amount of noise, including croaking noises in the undergrowth – more like frogs than a birds. The chorus turned out to be a mix of starlings and blackbirds.
A walk at this time may sound adventurous but to be honest, I didn’t explore very far; just from one harbour to the next. A very short walk (about 10 minutes according to the sign posts). But it was enough for what I wanted; to watch the world wake up. In particular, the Atlantic.
Sitting on the harbour wall, I watched the clear water gently wash against the pebbles, making a sucking ‘sloop’ noise as it retreated. I saw driftwood & seaweed fronds floating on the calm sea, black-headed gulls resting on the tide or circling overhead.
The wind shoved a break in the clouds across the sky and I wondered whether the ferryboat would run today. I noticed the harbour lights switch off at 5.43 exactly. The clouds slowed down and the water turned from dark grey to the viridian of evergreen trees.
By 6am, the island was shrouded in the murky half light of an overcast day. But as a pink hue stretched to the south, I realised – hey! It’s only just 6am and it’s pure daylight! Summer is here!
Despite the chill on my fingers, the woolly hat, and the rain that started to fall at 6.18, I stopped trying to decipher why I couldn’t sleep and felt thankful for it instead.
Surely, after those short dark days of winter, a morning such as this is a gift?