I love waking up early, but not too early.
The world is still silent and dark, with that opalescent light falling through the curtains.
Our little fellow is completely, heart-crushingly asleep, his face burrowed into some happy dream. Though, sometimes, the moment I leave his side, he stirs and mutters. And then I stand as still as stone, hoping that he won't wake or call out.
I love him, you see, but being alone at this time is something I need more.
Our upstairs neighbour's dog is blessedly quiet. If she is left alone, she barks non-stop (the dog, not the neighbour). Hopefully, her mistress won't decide to go for an early-morning walk.
I've always admired people who start their day with lime-and-honey or hot-water, or green tea. Or white tea which I read somewhere is even healthier than the green version.
But me, I need coffee.
I love that ritual of pouring the decoction, adding milk, jaggery (yep, much better than sugar, trust me), and watching it all swirl around in a medley of milk chocolate.
Coffee, I'm told, mustn't boil. So I take it off the flame just before it sizzles and fizzes, and well, burns.
And pour it into my slightly chipped blue mug.
And tip toe to our living room, where I sit in the pale light.
It rained the previous day, so the air is deliciously cool.
Which makes that first sip from my steaming mug, all the more blissful.
