My bedroom looked out over several terraced and semidetached Victorian-era homes. They were well made, with red bricks darkened by time and probably soot from the old coal days. It was a quiet neighbourhood, little indication of the bustling noise to come, as the various denizens would go to work.
Before all that hustle, I would look at these dimly lit windows, small flecks of light in the dark. I’d wonder who these people were, what they were doing. Were they like me, early risers? Or had they been up all night, and dawn signified bed time?
I miss those crisp and cold mornings, the kind of sharpness of the air that makes the body seem more distinct. I miss the dim light of the dawn, and the sulphur illuminated streets. I love the quiet, and these moments were just so peaceful.