The Dawn
The window looked like a pale rectangle at 4 am. The kitchen was sunk in wan early morning light ; there was bright pink-yellow dawn on the horizon. Turning on the lights was useless. I boiled the water and made tea with cream, than sat on the kitchen stool glancing at that newly born light outside the window. The was a void in my mind – the specific kind of void which could leave enough of space for me to feel my lazy liberty and connection with deep fascination in the life. The oncoming day seemed to be partly at least depended on my will, partly undetermined, partly promising and most of all interesting. I reminded me the photos taken in Africa which I had seen formerly in the album by Ryszard Kapuściński. I felt hardly bound up with daily matters, hardly bound up with my home and apartment which instead of being made of solid bricks and concrete was like a tent with everything flexible, changeable and temporary. It was good to feel the soft walls of tent around me – it promised a journey – and that atmosphere of travelling was predominant at 4 am. Morning light causes everything seems to be within my arm’s reach – everything was attainable at that hour – every imaginable truth, wisdom, destination seemed to be very near lying on the side-walk and waiting impatiently for complete fulfilment and for glee and gay possibility to bring changes. There was hidden but visible magnitude all over around me but my cup of tea with cream and pale glittering window-frame was a reflection of something familiar, warm, easy and deeply mine. That was in fact incarnation of my home as my living place; my particular place in the world of chaos which was easy understandable and devoid of chaos outside of it. Cup of the steaming tea on the kitchen counter was the fortress and the stronghold of that part of the world which was mine and only. The day would have been going to start soon.
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