27 September 2013

waking


At first I thought it was the foxes. Things being shifted slightly, a shuffling sound. Then I realised it was the sound of the of a broom, a big one. A single blackbird was singing, a train, a plane, the traffic rumbling away. Eventually I peeped out of the window and saw him turning the corner with his hi-viz jacket. The man who sweeps the streets before the sun comes up, who leaves order behind, had already moved on.

I snuck back to bed for a few minutes, heard the milkman leaving the milk. I thought about next door's  builders having their Macdonalds somewhere on the road between here and Billericay. And the morning last week when my neighbour and I rushed out in our PJs as the bin-men arrived early. "They've changed our schedule, love. We'll be getting here by seven from now on" he said smirking at us with our bare feet and shoulders.

I do wish I was a morning person.

13 comments:

ALoadofOldTat said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
ALoadofOldTat said...

Very evocative. Love the early morning sound of the milk float, something i haven't heard for years.

Anna said...

I was thinking about milk floats a few days ago, I miss the old whizzpurr noise they made, it's just little open-sided regular vans 'round here.

60 going on 16 said...

I still miss the milk cart that used to deliver to our house in West London in the Forties and Fifties. It was horse-drawn; the dear old horse's name was Thomas and, once a week, I was allowed to give him a sugar lump. I can still conjure up his rich horsey smell and the scent of the hay in his nosebag, an accessory without which no working horse was complete.

Here in rural Mid Devon, where we are surrounded by dairy farms, we have no home milk deliveries . . .

monix said...

No milk deliveries for us, either. I like D's memory of the horse drawn cart; as a child, I lived next door to the stables of the horses that drew the dustcarts. I had wonderful times in there, helping to polish the brasses and leathers for the special occasions when the horses went on parade. Our early morning dustbin service is a very noisy mechanical one - no romance in that!

rusty duck said...

Ah, but that sunrise...

Liz said...

Love that picture. I'm sort of a morning person, in that I stay up until very late (bliddy insomnia). We don't have people sweeping the streets here these days but apparently ours is one of the few councils which provides a street washing service. Get us!

annjennyg said...

Ooo! I love the early morning, there is something so fresh and unspoilt about it. Love your description.

rachel said...

You have a milkman.... I miss mine from when I lived up North - it's unheard of here.

Philippa said...

I was once up quite late at my parents' house, and I heard a very definite pushing and dragging in the garden. It stopped and started, stopped and started, each time a little closer, and I started to feel quite scared. It couldn't be a *person* surely, but otherwise - Eventually I opened the door a crack and there right in front of me was an indignant little hedgehog, dragging a bird-feeder along the patio.

You reminded me of it with 'Things being shifted slightly, a shuffling sound.'

I am definitely a morning person. I love that quietness, before the rest of the city wakes up, when it's just you and a few birds tuning up, the whistle of the kettle and early morning radio. Try and keep me up for anything exciting, however, and you'll be disappointed. I can usually be found asleep in the corner of the sofa about 12:30 on NYE. Very glamorous.

Annie @ knitsofacto said...

I find myself often wishing I was a morning person too ... I miss too many beautiful sunrises like this one ... but I'm a night owl and nothing seems to change that.

Knit Nurse said...

Definitely with Philippa on this one - I often think of it as my time, love getting up early and having some quiet moments out on my bike, Sunday being a particular favourite. Sometimes it's even worth going to bed early for! No milk float here, but we do have the market traders rattling along the high street before 7am three days a week.

Lucy Corrander at Loose and Leafy said...

Fortunately I am a morning person. (Though unfortunately I find late nights almost impossible to bear.) Your delightful post reminded me of the song 'Lullaby of Broadway'.