Observation of a particular morning

An Observation of a particular morning

Sitting on what is left of a wall damaged by the collision of a car I look at my watch, it is now 6:25. This is reassuringly early as only serious workers, crows, and people who remain very silent populate this time. Looking up I can see a sky marbled by airborne traffic, white streaks on the pale blue. The wall I sit on is outside a public house on a large housing estate, I imagine that later in the day when the sun has passed zenith that there will be shouting, fighting possibly, by people who live in a different world to me. Evidence of decay is all around: smashed telephone box, nasty looking puddles, badly spelled words on a bus shelter. There is something very deep and human about the place my mind wanders into, there is no pretence here; if you don't like somebody you hate them, if you like somebody you love them. There are no grey emotions in this place. I think of Dylan Thomas and I think of "Ink black bible black, fishing boat bobbing village". The red sunrise reminds me of blood, blood that will be shed later near this wall by people who have a different way of communicating.

The sun warms everything up, more people emerge, and I go to work.