There was a point, before the clocks changed, where I’d wake up and the beginnings of daylight would be visible in the sky. In the last couple of weeks, that’s been gone, replaced by the deep blue of pre-dawn in a way that’s felt particularly cruel and cold (in the literal sense; for some reason, I’ve felt it more chilly these mornings, despite what the thermometer says). It feels lonelier too, in a way that waking up and working in the winter didn’t; the sense of it happening while the rest of the world — or, at least, the rest of the city — is still asleep.
All of this melancholy is new, and surprising; it’s not constant, and I often feel the way that used to be my norm, that it’s exciting to be up and working while everyone else is sleeping, but nonetheless. Perhaps it’s age or perhaps something else, but whatever the reason, I find myself eagerly awaiting the light every morning now, almost willing summer to get here sooner so that I can wake up to it.