Morning Jog

Rustle, rustles, rustling - the different individual cacophonies blend into a soft hum as the morning welcomes the blossoming of the sun. Aside from a meandering stream of water gleaming along the centre, the canal is dry. Birds cackle and call as they alight, then take flight again, a flurry of white and black, white and black. Rosy-cheeked mimosa wave teasingly at the scrunch-scrunch of worn joggers' shoes on the rough tarmac, and soft grunts sound out, dwindling as the runners pass. It is chilly, the cold morning air nipping at their sweaty skin – but that is driven away by the increasing warmth.

It is earlier than I normally awake, and the sights and sounds and smells overwhelm me…so I stop and stare.

Languid strands of dewdrops span the breath of space between tremulous crystal blades. The sweet symmetry of the fragile bonds sparkles in the morning sun amongst wet green shoots, seemingly born more from liquid sunlight than spider's silk. Gentle pearls of dew cling after the previous night's onslaught; glasshouses and glass roofs and glass terraces and similar miniature crystal universes glisten messily amongst all that green freshness.

Wildflowers are strewn haphazardly across the untidy patches of shrub, the light purples and yellows creating an enchanting dissonance with the occasional discarded plastic bag and tin can... Cotton-candy trees yawn wisely overhead, their intertwining branches reaching into eternity.

The dizzy arching blue above simply makes me want to fling out my arms trustingly… and look up and up, and up and up and up until I fall over backwards in drunken delight.

A/N: I think I must have looked silly prancing about taking pictures while other joggers were trying hard and huffing and puffing... but oh well. Who cares.