Timeshift

At 6.30 am, everything looks oddly purple, with discordant yellow light lancing into the darkness from faraway houses. The smells are different and there is an odd disjunct between people who like getting up at that time and those desperately hanging onto blankets and the cloak of sleep.

The aroma of coffee, necessary for some, anathema to others, percolates around the stubborn houses. I scent fried eggs, butter, mushrooms. Occasionally, there are less-pleasant smells: wet dog, garbage truck. Someone with a strong floral perfume has passed by recently. The air smells cleaner, and the chocolate-tobacco smell of night-time industrial venting is much reduced.

It all seems pretty alien. And then I realise the main thing that makes all of it so strange: I used to be awake at this time most days, and now it is a special occasion. Heh.