Leggings – Early morning noises.

Leggings – Early morning noises.

Sometimes you wake up to the dawn chorus... When all the birds are singing and the sunshine is pale lemon, thin and strangely beautiful. The dawn can be a cold intensity. Even in summer.

I slept on the floor, back complaints, in a different position.

Today I woke up to someone complaining outside the flat. Whosoever it was had arranged to show someone that waking me up by pointing the mind doesn't work. It does. As soon as I moved, she panicked and moved her person away.

"You see it's perfectly quiet in here," she said polishing the wall, "Anyone can sleep well! I listened to the sound of footsteps, as they moved off. Her voice echoed backwards – I nearly laughed.

"Of course she can't hear anything. It's not possible!"

I find the notion of choosing who I speak to liberating. It's easier since I had the two week break. I saw something very odd while I was away.

I lay on the bed one night watching the sky through a gap in the curtains, and what seemed to be a missile went by. Perhaps it was a drone. It was shaped like a cigarette. White and thin. No signs of wings.

Frightened I turned round in the bed I lay the other way around so I couldn't see out out of the window. There is an old story, which was told to me as a child, of a missile which is slowly circling the earth. Where it comes from no-one now knows. It's in a declining orbit. One day it will land.

No-one knows why it is sent here. No-one knows what happens when it lands. Sometimes the story is bad, sometimes it's a sign of hope. Sometimes the missile hones in on your head.

Newly, the missile becomes a space craft. They are monitoring earth. It's a strange wonderful story, which illustrates how uncertain our knowledge is, and how many stories can come out of a sight of something unknown. Sometimes the stories are true.

Yesterday I found one odd memory to be true. The past is dissolving into bits. I have some memories back. The light dawns clear white, painfully true.