Outside, there was that predawn kind of clarity, where the momentum of living has not quite captured the day. The air was not filled with conversation or thought bubbles or laughter or sidelong glances. Everyone was sleeping, all of their ideas and hopes and hidden agendas entangled in the dream world, leaving this world clear and crisp and cold as a bottle of milk in the fridge.
Reif Larsen, from The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet.
Meanwhile, I'm playing this song on repeat and up loud as I work here this morning.
And before I forget, I found the opening quote over on the marvellous Terri Windling's blog.
A glimpse from one of those early morning walks I took, back home in New Zealand ... Cooks Beach, on the Coromandel Peninsula ... sunrise.
