The voyage of the dawn treaders

First of all, I must admit that it was not myself but my sweet H who took this photograph, from his favourite velux, at dawn. The sound that you can hear is that of my teeth grinding together slightly as I also admit that it has not had so much as a tweak from Adobe photoshop, and what you see is what was there, and it doesn't look too bad at all. To distract myself from his success and my relative failure at mastering the camera's controls, I start to contemplate the night before this dawn.

What is it with middle aged sleep? Where is that long lost deep slumber of youth? When I was a teenager, it would have taken a nuclear explosion or perhaps an earthquake, richter 10, to awaken me. And oh, those glorious lie-ins, when I used to wake up drugged with sleep, only to turn over and plunge back down into the sea of dreams for another half hour or so.

All gone. I never dream now.

I surface at regular intervals throughout the night, never sleeping really deeply, awaking unrefreshed. I pass my sweet H on the staircase as we pad quietly about the house, trying not to disturb each other, slopping herbal tea on the wooden stairs, walking towards another dawn.