early mornings


Most mornings we wake up at about 5am. I have no idea why that is happening... I was always an early to bed, late to rise kind of person but now it seems I need less sleep. It can't possibly be age encroaching.

Maybe it is all about getting a balance to my day... a moment to reflect before the real world encroaches and the work begins.

Anyway, each morning we sit outside with our coffee and watch the birds and the world going by. It is amazing just how many people are up at the crack of dawn in Moorreesburg.

Comments

Bill Lisleman said…
you won't find me awake at the time of day unless there a reason like a plane to catch or trip to start.
reflecting is good but I can do that later in the day just as well.
9 January 2011 at 00:33
Anonymous said…
Hi there! So nice to meet you and glad you joined in on last Wednesday's word. I've always enjoyed mornings when I have awakened early and watched the sun come up, but most days I'm still in dreamland. Being able to watch the sun rise gives an energetic boost to the day! I need to try and do it more often.
11 January 2011 at 18:48
Anonymous said…
By the way...come join us again tomorrow for this Wednesday's word - SOAR!
11 January 2011 at 18:50
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

the writer formerly known as...

Twenty years after I was born a Brooks, I became a Wilson in one of those happy-ever-after fantasies that didn't quite work out the way I had planned. But Wilson was a nice name, and eminently preferable to Brooks (which in Afrikaans means underpants or knickers and led to horrible teasing at school) and I quite enjoyed it. It was one of those anonymous names that everyone could spell and I liked the fact that it was totally normal at first look, but had a secret history. The great grandfather of the Mr Wilson I married had emigrated from somewhere near Moscow to the US and like so many others with unpronouncable or "difficult" names (I think it was Tobinofsky) he was given another one. One of the legends is that Wilson was chosen from the phone book, another is that he particularly admired a Wilson (couldn't have been Harold). So, for the next 25 years or so, I built my name and reputation as the journalist Lynne Wilson ... until I met and married my new happy-ever-a
Read more

Like faded flowers, thrown away: Steve Biko and the Boer women

Image
A Boer woman with her dead child, the last of her children to die, photographed by Emily Hobhouse The women are wonderful. They cry very little and never complain. The very magnitude of their sufferings, their indignities, loss and anxiety seems to lift them beyond tears… only when it cuts afresh at them through their children do their feelings flash out. Some people in town still assert that the Camp is a haven of bliss. I was at the camp to-day, and just in one little corner this is the sort of thing I found – The nurse, underfed and overworked, just sinking on to her bed, hardly able to hold herself up, after coping with some thirty typhoid and other patients, with only the untrained help of two Boer girls–cooking as well as nursing to do herself. Next tent, a six months’ baby gasping its life out on is mother’s knee. Two or three others drooping sick in that tent. Next, a girl of twenty-one lay dying on a stretcher. The father, a big, gentle Boer kneeling beside her; while,
Read more

mind the gap

I'm suffering from an excess of velleity. Velleity is volition at its weakest. It's a mere wish or inclination, without any accompanying effort. My velleity is fed by an overactive imagination... I can see in my mind's eye exactly what my dream garden looks like, for example. So when I am outside, I'm imagining a tree there, a shrub here, a winding path and a bank of flowers. so the lack of all those things and the lack of effort on my part to make them happen don't worry me so much. It certainly makes things easier when you are living with a very large garden during our excessively hot and dry summers. I'd write more... but what can I say? Velleity strikes again.
Read more