The field at dawn

The field at dawn, still half hidden in the night. Each element of the landscape slowly comes into focus: each row of cabbage in the field, each tree in the stand of birches beyond it, each pole in the fence between them. A pair of pigeons pecking at the ground between molehills. As the dawn separates things out it also reveals their interconnection. The landscape makes sense, it’s as if it’s happening, and I with it as I stand looking out the window, slowly waking. Then I sit down, open the laptop with a yawn to check my emails, find the internet’s playing up again, and the spell is broken, as they say.

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