I Spy

The sun was low. I didn’t notice this right away, but knew there was something different. It was the leaves. It was the shadows. They were too big, too dark, too horizontal. My eyes drifted, trying to follow the rocking boughs, trying to wake up.

Bright sun was rare enough. Bright sunshine at sunrise was, well, I had been in Ireland for five weeks and not once seen anything but clouds in the morning.

There was no sound, no rustle, no whisper. Perhaps my ears were still asleep, or the double-glazed windows were closed.

“It’s too early,” the tree reassured me, every leaf smiling, every leaf glowing and dancing. “Go back to sleep.”

How could I argue. Sunrise meant 5am. And I was on vacation.