Ganeida's Knots

Most people do not consider dawn to be an attractive experience ~ unless they are still up ~ Ellen Goodman




I am not a morning person. I do not leap out of bed delighting in a new day. These days it's more of a creak as I fumble for my glasses to reduce the blur then pad downstairs with only one thought in mind: coffee. Lots & lots of coffee.




Nope, mornings are not my thing. I began as a night owl. Nights were quiet. Nights were peaceful. Nights were for me ~ & the cats. My kids like nights too. As they grew bigger & stayed up later it became harder & harder to to find that quiet space ~ unless I got up early. Early early. Like before the sun is up early.




Our bedroom is almost all windows with panoramic views through the trees over Quandamooka ~ & we don't do curtains. In summer it is light by 4am ~ & it is the only cool part of the day! In this sub~tropical climate the storms thunder down at night & the early morning air is a rich heady elixir. That first hour of the day is a fey time, shadowy with dreams & half~thoughts, so still the ticking clocks resound like gongs.




I wade through shadows thick as molasses as the cats lift their heads in greeting, ears pricked in anticipation. I slide the door, throw the stair light switch & wait as the cats shoot between my legs & hurtle down the stairs, tails carried so high they arch over their backs.




I follow more slowly, turning off the light at the bottom. The hallway is dark but there are no cats there. They are already in the kitchen eyeing their empty dishes with disgust, staring through the sliding glass door at the day. I punch the computer button & pick up the cat dishes on my way to the kettle. I pour cat biscuits into cat dishes, cats mewling anxiously about my ankles. Kirby has learnt to wait, his eyes fastened on me, every movement noted. Marlow is still a kitten with a kitten's impatience. He tangles through my feet as I set the dishes down in his anxiety to get to the food before it disappears.




I stare vaguely through the kitchen window as I wait for the kettle to boil. The moriah needs cutting back but the small white flowers are filling the kitchen with scent. There is still sea mist cradling the islands in a gauzy shawl. I can hear the mud popping through the mangroves & the slosh of water tells me the tide is high. The first birds call uncertainly as the sky lightens imperceptibly.




I make coffee in my thick green mug, add a dollop of ice cream if there is any, waggle the mouse to see if the computer has loaded. Kirby complains that the door is shut, but shut it will stay until it is light outside. He jumps up on the desk & paddles all over the keyboard in protest. The computer has a spac attack as he meanders back & forth then settles in front of the key board purring dementedly. Marlow gently pricks his claws through my pant leg so I reach down & tuck him into the curl of my left arm. He too begins a deep rumbling purr. One armed, my keyboard out of reach & two cats creating a small earthquake about me I sip my coffee & begin reading your blogs.




It is very quiet: clocks tick, cats purr, the computer makes computer noises. Outside the sky glows rosy. There is an explosion of sound as the birds discover the day. I throw washing in the machine, grab my bible & more coffee, throw open the door & settle in a wicker chair on the verandah. Kirby shoots past me to explore, then begins mewling anxiously to find me. Marlow follows more slowly, collapsing at my feet & lolling abandonedly. Light glints on leaf edges like a scything sword. The bay spreads out like a pewter mirror under bunching clouds. The sea smell of salt & mud wafts up from the beach. Kirby chitters at the butcher birds. The silence is not silent but deep & impenetrable. If I am lucky I still have an hour of quiet, an hour to sink into the silence, an hour to be deeply grateful for this quiet time before the busyness of the day begins.




It begins with banging & the peculiar sput~sput of a nail gun. The builders are on the job early dragging Ditz protesting from her bed before she is ready to rise. All unnoticed the peace, the quiet, the silence has gone, swallowed up by people living their lives. Cars gun down the main road, over loud in the early morning air. The thrum of boat engines carries loudly across the water. Birds fight & squabble after the gum blossom, screech & squawk & sing declaring their territories, wooing mates, warning predators. The cats sensibly curl up in disgust but I carry the early morning peace within me like a precious jewel into the hustle & bustle, a quiet oasis as chaos whirls about me.