And mornings come early and earlier. The guesthouse, lined up with the first rays of the morning sun, if it's cloudy I can sleep in, if not I'm up with it. 5:30 now and earlier, no possibility of napping until it's raised itself above the window, by the solstice I'll be up at 4:30 every day, not a problem, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm working until 11:00...
Still, the mornings here are the best times, every bird in the forest is singing, a hundred different pitched conversations, clouds gently rising up from the valley, silkworms hover in the sunlight, little gossamer curtains with glistening dewy beads, sit outside on the shaded step and watch the day begin...time, at this hour, for fa hundred, a thousand plans to be laid and revised...