Waiting for the birds

The morning star is quietly fading above the moon, and the street lamps have just gone out. The air is thoroughly awake, full of geese flying westward and gulls demanding breakfast. This temperature, my having to get up because it was too hot to sleep, reminds me of my early childhood in Spain and Singapore, the latter especially. Parts of my skin I failed to cover in slap are reminding me of that right now.
I’ve been sitting in the garden for a while watching the skies lift. There’s an early morning scent I can’t describe.

Yes, it was like this. I remember this feeling.
Yesterday a flock of house martins descended on our house, and played around the local roof tops for much of the day. I love them, they always look like they’re having a great time. I hope they come back. Now a kind of coolness is coming in and it’s all good.

At some point maybe I should see Singapore again. Dad always said not to, that my heart would break, I think he was projecting his sadness at seeing old Singapore being dismantled for the sake of the new Lion City. One of my memories was of waking up on a sweltering night like this, to find my legs covered in water. Looking down there was this tiny sausage shape clambering up my knee; our cat, refusing boxes and blankets, had chosen to give birth in my bed. She was lying there with her kittens all around us both. I was in a world of purrs.

It’s one of my favourite memories. This morning will join it.