The air is chilly, and the wind seems to be blowing in earnest. Like almost it is paid to make me bring the ends of my jacket closer. Having a river flowing by doesn't really help to keep me warm, but the sound of water strangely calms me. It will be a while before dawn breaks and I can feel the comforting warmth. But now I have a companion. A bird which seems to be way too close to me for her comfort. No matter how hard I try to stay in, under the warmth of the covers, I wake up each morning before it is even 4. I trudge along, alone and go to the solitary bench. I have never once questioned as to why there was only one, so far, and not more. But then how many benches would I need? And there I find myself, a river that flows by, not quietly of course, sometimes she gurgles, and a bird and a few trees around, and the leaves that fall off them. Day after day I come here, trying to find some meaning, trying to find something new, trying to know something new, but it evades me. Life trudges along with the same sickening clockwork precision and for once I wish that there were some changes. Something new to look forward to. I didn't want the clock turned back to the times I have had, but I wanted change. But strangely when I had it, even if it were minimal, I didn't quite relish it. There as always something missing.
Nonetheless, my early morning jaunts were something I had begun to look forward to. There are more people in the world now than there were when I was born, and strangely enough, most are lonely. So many lonely in a crowd, I see people eating alone, being alone. What is it at the end of the day? Should we expect more from life and remain dissatisfied, or just try and be content with what you have, knowing fully well that you are only trying and not being?
Time seems to have passed quickly and I see the horizon warming up. Just like my life seems to have passed. It is time for me to get back home, and yet another day dawns. And my feet of 69 years trudge back home, and the sun rises behind me.