Left house at 5am. Clear roads, shrill breeze. The city is empty, calm, sleeping. Joining the trail, misty wisps illuminated by headlight form temporary cataracts before my eyes. Milk white, impenetrable. They fade.
The cycle path at Blackweir is home to tiny winged company. They hop, skip and skitter, seeking breakfast before diving back into bush and tree. North Road is silent. A complete quiet. Total hush. Empty crisp packets replace tumbleweed in a British city desert. There is life though. A garbage trucks’ rotating eye illuminates office blocks on Greyfriars Road. A man walks purposefully along Park Place. A cyclist crosses my future path on Churchill Way. Winter clings on in this shrill breeze. It doesn’t want to release just yet.
Despite the ungodly hour and complaints from an under rested body, the respite from fumes and the Formicidae busyness of the city is welcome. I could wallow in it, roll my soul in it, eek it out for another 20,30,40 minutes. No time though. Work beckons.
Early start, tired body, long day ahead. I could have taken the car today. But miss that sensation of having the city to yourself? Nah.