Night turns to day

Sleep was slow coming last night.  The intense heat of May means the fan needs to stay on when I turn in, it’s gentle whir usually lulling me into oblivion but last night it failed to do the trick.  An hour or so after the lights went off and my nightly meditation was a distant memory I finally nodded off.

 

It was a short-lived sleep.  The long overdue storm finally arriving, its approach bringing a series of short power cuts, the break in the whirring of the fan stirring me from my dreams just as a huge flash of lightening lit up my room, a roll of thunder not far behind.

 

For an hour or so I lay once more unable to sleep.  Listening as the thunder rumbled, then banged and then the clouds broke.  A metal roof means storms are not a peaceful experience at the best of times and this one was a corker, the rain so heavy that the dripping from the hole in my ceiling turned from a gentle pitter to an ominous plopping.  Would this be the night that my ceiling finally gave up its fight against the nightly rambunctious tumbling of scrapping rats and cats coupled with the water seeping into its layers.

 

It held firm, the rain lessened and ultimately sleep arrived again.

 

The next time it was the neighbourhood dogs.  Howling at god knows what for the longest time before our family of hounds decided to join in the fray.  I tossed and turned, I dozed, the dogs refused to give up their howling.  And then I saw it, a shadow passed my window.  There was activity in the yard.

 

Two men, mango thieves at a guess, snooping around.  Papa was woken, shuffling out in his boxers only to chat to the men and wander up to the road.  Our dogs quietened down, the neighbourhood ones not so much so.

 

The monks chanting, a death overnight maybe.

 

By now all thoughts of sleep erased I lay and listened to the sounds of the approaching morning.  Watching as the sky turned from black to a deep rose pink outside my window.

 

Opening the door to a post storm morning, the faint smell of over ripe slightly fermenting mangoes drifting on the breeze.

 

Yoga time maybe? Or how about a bike ride?

 

The latter decided upon and off I went into the cool of the start of Sunday, in my mind likening the temperature and feel to a UK summer morning.  An impromptu selfie to Snapchat back home put paid to that idea – my idea of a ‘cool’ morning registering as 26 degrees on the app.

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A bovine roadblock, same place as last time, probably the same cows.  Kampot waking up, going to get coffee and breakfast, the ice man doing his rounds, reaching the end of the road and turning back, bridge painting still going on (sadly the yellow and black have made an appearance), beauty in the simplicity of a lotus flower opening.

Post bike ride I sit for coffee, the lack of sleep making it a three Americano morning, the end of my book signalling that exciting time of which one to choose next.

 

All is well in my world and despite the lack of sleep I have a good feeling about today.

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