Early Morning

Dawn: in a little house in one of the London boroughs. I was up extremely early, due to jet-lag, and I was looking out of the window of the small room, almost a box room, that I shared with my brother.
As I looked out I could see the small, well-kept lawn that we often play football on. There was no such activity now. Instead, the cooing of pigeons and the melodious trilling of an unseen thrush, were the only hint of life. The lawn was covered in dew, that I knew would feel deliciously cool, but then within a minute would freeze my feet. Before I could even reach the lawn the red, stony patio would have already stolen the feeling from my feet, and left them numb and hurting. The pond, in one corner of the patio, had chicken wire spread across the top of it, to stop the local cats from eating the goldfish. …