Dawn Salutations
I'm not an early riser. I like my sleep. My bed is my safe place. Somewhere to snuggle down enveloped by warmth and softness; a place of dreams and alternative stories. This morning however, my hibernating tendancies were not to be. The 6.30 a.m. appearance of my daughter by my bedside, coffee in hand, reminded me of my volunteer taxiing commitment. What possessed me to agree to this obscenely early rising, I asked myself. In response I was hit by a metaphorical tsunami of early morning commuters who chided me for my sloth like tendencies. I do accept I'm no lark. Getting up before the first brush strokes of dawn have caressed earth's tapestry of monotones has always been a challenge. How I managed to make my 4.30am milking parlour appointments for more than five years is a mystery to me. I guess my need for money won out over my desire to live in harmony with my circadian rhythm. Despite it being the dreichest of mornings this early excursion did reignite a forgott...
