One of my favourite things

It is no secret among those who know me very well:  I am a night owl.  Always have been, probably always will be.  I have difficulty sleeping at night and consequently I don't like getting up early in the morning.  Now that I am no longer amongst the ranks of the employed, I can sleep as late as I want to.  Lucky for me, although I do try to limit this to eight/eight thirty in the morning, with varying levels of success. (Ok, ok. Sometimes eight becomes ten. I am not perfect!)

 

On the rare occasions that I do wake up early in the morning, I get to experience my favourite time of day in Amman:  just after sunrise.  At the moment it is around five thirty-ish.  When one of these occasions presents themselves, I like to get up and head to the kitchen, pour myself a glass of ice cold water (I love to drink really cold water, even in winter) and just drink it all in:  the water and the almost complete silence of the hour.

 

Let me explain why...

 

Ours is not exactly a quiet suburb.  We live in a busy neighbourhood, close to some major routes so we can constantly hear loud traffic noises, even as early (or late!) as four o'clock in the morning.  Ammonites love to party, they stay up and out very late.  Add the sounds of their revelling to the "normal" traffic noises: intermittent loud hooting; revving engines and screeching tyres as people race their souped-up cars in the streets, chasing real and imagined opponents in formula-one-type pursuits that only exist in their own minds.  Often this cacophony is punctuated by the hollow blam-blam-blam of random gunshots, fired into the air and which curiously forms part of a lot of the Ammonite festivities.

 

Very few people are out and about at five thirty in the morning.  Partygoers have reached their destinations and most people only get up for work more or less at that time, with rush hour starting closer to seven thirty, or so I have been told by my long suffering, hard working husband! 

 

So, imagine not hearing the sound of a single car going by.  Heaven!  All is quiet outside, except the birds singing their greetings to the rising sun and the occasional meow of a couple of stray cats outside.  

 

Our kitchen faces south-west, so I cannot see the rising sun, only its effects on the world outside my kitchen window.  On clear mornings the skies turn baby blue, with a soft orange-pink layer gently kissing the horizon.  Rows and rows of unattractive cream-coloured apartment blocks turn into romantic cubes as they take on a pink blush, their windows a sparkly, reflective gold.

 

As I stand in my kitchen, eyes blinking against the shiny sight while slowly sipping my ice cold water, I revel in the moment.  I try to hold my breath for as long as I can, hoping to stop time, holding on to the silence.  When I hear the first cars go by in the distance, I let out my breath and remind myself:  there will be another sunrise tomorrow.