around 4:45 a.m. a week or so ago,
the insomniac’s sweet reward
August 2, 2011 in Canada and BC, Home by Marja-Leena
i love the light on the water here very early
when i get up at 6.30, 7, i’m too late
not wishing insomnia on myself — but it is lovely to rise very early once in a while, to see it all quiet.
ah yes, I know that experience so well.
Insomnia has beings some sweet rewards.
My favourite was the morning when I woke at 3am to see the first few flakes of snow falling and was awake to watch it blanket the ground.
And yes, mine were the first footprints in the snow
Having becalmed the viewing eye, the dawning serenity might yet goad the mind for a bit of rest, or maybe a spot of sleep.
A very nice reward indeed. I hope you had a fresh cup of coffee to keep you company.
Elisa, yes, the quiet is lovely so early as I step outside into the cool fresh air to watch the sky and water change ever so quickly.
Mouse, I too love to watch the snowflakes coming down at night,
changing the world white. That would keep me awake with excitement!
Anil, yes, I did manage to get some sleep after, thanks.
Susan, no, it was too early for coffee when I still needed sleep.
Sometimes I look for musical notation between the parallel lines of telegraph wires. Particularly tempting here.
That does look lovely! Sleepy, too.
I sometimes wake up in the night for poems. I also wake up in the night for snorings. I’ve tried rolling the snorer over, pinching his nose, telling him to be quiet… Sometimes I just get up. And then sometimes I wake up for no reason and wander about in ghostly fashion.
Joe, that sounds fun, I wonder what song should accompany this scene?
Marly, occasionally I have a creative spark waking me but usually it seems to be my restless body, and yes, I wander about in ghostly fashion, making the floors creak and annoying any family staying downstairs.
Joe’s got the idea … how about Shostakovich? One of the early string quartets?
rouchswalwe, great suggestion! or maybe a Sibelius: Night Ride and Sunrise.
Dawn and dusk are lovely, but dawn has a silent sweetness.
© Marja-Leena Rathje 2004-2017