An Early Morning

Every time I wrote ‘green’ the name of this song popped in my mind. Good morning!

I woke up at 5 o’clock in the morning after only three hours of sleep. Even though I’m not a morning person I love early mornings. Nature is coming alive and everything’s so pure. Trees are sunbathing on the early sun and skies are clear blue. I hear birds and, cars racing by on the boulevard. Across the street is a big park, which resembles to a tiny woods. Shadows of buildings are covering some of it’s parts. From my window, I can see a big part of the city. As I’m looking throguh my window I think of citiy’s streets and how it is to be outside at this very moment. I have certain periods of time when I wake up this early in the morning just to find myself dead tired after two or three hours later, when I am suppoused to wake up. Even though it can be a bummer, waking up this early and then being tired for the rest of the day, I love these early mornings. Green colour of trees is spilling in front of me from light green, almost white, to grass green and dark green, while the composure of the colours still keeps it’s harnmony and unity. There’s a red trolley down the boulevard, turning left, making a contrast to this green monotony. Behind the park and across the river, is a bridge and buildings. They are clear and bright between the blue sky and the green park with clearly defined shadows which they’re making. A couple of cars and busses are crossing the bridge. All I hear is the birds and the sound of my typing. On the edge of the park, surrounded by trees, there are three houses, peeking out of the green. You can see only their pinkish roofs and chimneies. I’ve always wondered how is it inside of them, especially when it rains. Metal of streetlamps or a glass is sparkling on the early sun in the distance, across the river. The mountain can be seen quite clearly this morning. I hope I’ll eventually doze off to the sound of my typing, but I already have less than two hours of sleep.



I couldn’t sleep that night, I was finishing some work and I finally fell asleep around 4 a.m. I woke up to the first sunlight entering our living room. I looked towards the window just to find her sitting beside it. She was looking through it, captivated by the view. Last time I saw her, moonlight was illuminating her pale face, and now it is the sun who has that privilege. Her long, dark hair was sprawled around and over her shoulders. She had her silk nightgown on and she was holding a mug in her hands, sipping her morning coffee. A train was crossing the bridge. She didn’t take her eyes off of the window. I know what she liked the best about summer mornings-green grass in the sun and as a contrast to it shadows which were ocurring here and there. Why is she up so early? I asked myself but decided not to push the question when there is no need for it. Everything’s perfect just the way it is. After a while of looking at her and the view from our window, from the comfort of our bed, I decided that there is no point in trying to sleep again. I slowly approached, sitting across her, smiling. She smiled, not looking at me. We sat like that in silence for some time. As the gentle, warm sun was carresing our faces I wondered where was a passing airplane headed to. I would glance over to her every now and then. Her lips were pink and her face pale, while her brown orbs were the perfect contrast to it. She was so innocent, so pure.

This is a picture which is set as the default header of this theme but I loved it so much so I had to put it on here. It really captures an early morning.

This is a picture which is set as the default header of the theme I’m using for my blog but I loved it so much so I had to put it on here. You can see it in the header as well, only bigger. It really captures an early morning.

A Man


Today I saw an old man sitting alone in a cafe. Outside was a sunny, quite hot day, you could say it was perfect. He was sitting, as I’ve already said, alone in the shadow of the cafe, holding a cigarette in his hand, flipping it around his fingers time to time. He was leaning on a table, hands crossed. He was looking in front of himself. Jazz was playing at the back. On the table were lying a coffee, plastic bag with something square shaped inside, a pocket of cigars with a lighter set on them and a couple of other things. He was deep in thought. What could he have been thinking about? Love or a job? A book or a trip? The days that were, are, or even the days that lie ahead of him? Mistakes or possibilities? Maybe he saw a girl who reminded him of his long lost love, or his wife when she was young. Maybe she left him and he is now thinking where did he go wrong, and the moment when she told him that she’s leaving him. Or he could have been thinking about the nights when they were having time of their lives. ”What is his profession?” was one of the questions I asked myself. Maybe he’s a lawyer or a doctor? He is quite chubby and by his features I would say he is a wealthy man. By the way he was dressed I would say that he lives in that neighborhood. Maybe he is a professor on a university? Or an owner of a company? He could be an investor as well. But, maybe he’s non of those things, maybe he is just a retired man from his job as a salesman or a cook? Maybe he was wealthy enough so he didn’t have to do anything? But he spent it all so he was recalling back the old times and thinking what he could have done to prevent that. By the sweatpants he was wearing I would say he is not as wealthy as he was, or he just pulled them out of the closet. They were quite worn out. I’d say he’s 63 years old, retired not long ago as a lawyer or a doctor, you name it. The cafe is dark and wooden. He was sitting in the middle of it, alone in the room. All other guests were sitting outside. Behind him is a gallery with two tables and a bar bellow it. The cafe was open, all of the windows were opened so you have a feeling that you are not in a closed room. He was looking outside, on a small street, pavement where the tables were set and, across the street, at one of the biggest parks in the city, where children were playing and dogs were running. Trees were making a shadow here and there and cars were parked in the small street. He had black shoes on, black sweats with white stripes on sides and a shirt. When I took the last glance of him he was still sitting at the same position, looking at the same spot through his glasses.