At 5am, the planes begin to take off again. I await their signalling that the new day has begun.
The rumble breaks through the sky. It rattles the world left behind, taking off to a new land.
Until then, complete silence.
I gaze up at the skies. I check the stars are out. Sometimes it’s too cloudy and they’re hidden under their own blanket.
I stare at big open spaces, waiting for a shooting star to bring me hope. I find myself disheartened by a slow plane on a long journey, momentarily masquerading. Lying to the world below.
The new day begins.
Traffic roars from the main road. Car doors start to slam.
People begin the rat race. I wait patiently.
Their routines encouraging me to embrace and enjoy this life.
Peace and tranquility eludes all of us in different ways.
My anxiety feeds my insomnia once more. It’s dark.
Sometimes my favourite place. My safe place.
I have the morning sky.
I often write about my anxiety in poetic form – see my piece on the prompt Fret.