Early morning memories

I like getting up early. I rarely do it these days... not properly early anyway, but when I do, it's usually a particularly pleasant experience. I remember walking through the streets of Cardiff one time at about 6 in the morning or something, heading to the train station (I think). All was silent and still. There were no cars about; the traffic lights blinked out of regimented habit. There was a sense of expectation or suspension, as though this time existed in some some kind of stasis separate from the usual way of things. It was just... calm, and non-threatening. I felt aware and connected to the people in the city, but (this is the best way I can think of describing it) in a similar sense to a matron might feel walking past a maternity ward full of sleeping babies.

The earliest I've been up recently was at 3 am to start the Welsh Three Peaks. We had to be at the start of the challenge at 4 am, and found ourselves on the slopes of Snowdon by 4.30. By about 5, it was light enough to see everything around us. Despite there being 80 other teams participating in the day (and, therefore, a lot of other people on the mountain), the sense of peace was still there, and the scenery was fantastic. Maybe that was part of it: as the Sun rose and the land was revealed in ever-changing hues of colour and light, you got the sense that there was something out there that was solid and reliable. The natural world itself and whatever caused it to exist. Thinking back to it now I think maybe I felt small in comparison to all that, but not in an 'Ultimate Perspective Machine' sense... rather in a protected sense.

I can thoroughly recommend climbing Snowdon at 4.30 in the morning... or walking the streets of a city on a clear, dry morning...