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Wakening by Hannah Turlington



The sun has a certain quality in the early morning – it caresses everything it touches with a softness that envelops it. The stillness of the air and the gold light on my skin as I watch the changing shadows on my foot – I feel alive.

They wrap me in a safety where I feel free to think about my dreams – dreams that I have long since forgotten and dared not to breathe again – wrapping myself in my own brain and my body.

I hear the bees on their duties – moving between the foxgloves and the delphiniums – collecting their hoard before the sun heats the world and makes it impossible for them to fly.

Sitting on the tea towel covered chair to protect my pyjamas from the dampness of the dawn – I breathe. I breathe – I breathe – I breathe into the world and into the pocket of sun.

The light is changing – the gentle angles are gone and the wood pigeons and crows begin their conversations – it is time to move.

The day is starting – the sun is heating my forehead – I feel a tingle on my exposed skin. I long to hold this feeling forever – breathing – breathing into the early wakening of the sun.

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