Unhook and Drift

6:50am. Waiting for the water to heat up for a bath. Moving through the silent monochrome of the dawn flat. I wait for the too-loud kettle to boil in the kitchen, and in the undefinable light outside, I watch the lamps that hang across the Mews sway slight slightly. A tiny blur of the white-yellow bulbs, as if they are only vaguely disquieted.
The silence of living here still strikes me. All I can hear is the crepuscular hum of the laptop. It is a silence in which it would be easy to lose yourself in daydreaming - or dawndreaming. Ramshackle boats losing their anchors in tideless seas, the order from the captain; unhook and drift...
There is a V between the two curtains, showing an unreal angle of sky, slashed by the bars of the window. The colour of the sky is a strange grey, deep and unimpeachable, lost in itself, and threaded through with a kind of gold. A perfect flat shade. That shade is all over Brighton now, lightening slightly, as we move too quickly into the day.