Attic Peace

When I first woke, about an hour ago at 7:00am, it was all but dark. I crept about the house preparing myself for work (it is not possible in a late November dawn to do anything but creep, as if the very fact of being awake is a secret thing that needs to be hidden). The cat-flap rattled in the door, and aside from this, there was no other sound. I sat on the sofa in my room, drinking a cup of tea, the nocturnal ambience only increased because my curtains were still drawn shut. There is a peace about this time, the serenity of an attic where nothing has been disturbed for decades. I could imagine my lamp, set on the floor, lighting the same things since childhood; my sketchbook, a cluster of wires, a computer mouse, a crumpled pair of jeans. Five minutes till I leave for work, walk out into the cold light of an alien day.

I hear someone move outside, possibly readying the coffee shop next door for opening. Sound of some shutter, or a large barrel. Rumours of movement, and silence already beginning to be forgotten.