The Lost Mornings of Youth

Today is sunny and white in a suburb of London and I feel as if I walk alone. Through stillness road SE23, calm is interrupted only by the start of a family Sunday, the shout of a child quietly silenced by a parent with one tired eye on the empty day ahead. They are joined by the sound of car engines different distances away, a reminder of those who don't get to stay in bed. The tube will work today, the shops will open and the football will start and finish. Plans are in heads and bodies are in action. I walk towards the lives I hear, resentful of those who have decided to sleep but happy to claim this part of the journey as my own. I think of the mornings lost to sleep, time in which to reconsider and reflect. The possibility of dawn, its calmness and fresh light. As people start to join me on the pavement, as the roads fill up, I regret the loss of this morning and all the mornings of my youth.