Paris

God, how I hate getting up in the dark. But I did, after failing to persuade myself I could go back to sleep for an hour. It was 6 a.m. after all.  On a weekday there would have been people sounds in the street, but it is Sunday, and the people sounds were at 3 a.m. 

What is it about the dark, being awake in? 

Never mind. It is now 8:30, the sun is up, the air is crisp, too crisp, given that the heat won't be on in the building for another two weeks, and I am bathed and dressed and warmish, and I have a hot cup of tea, and it is unusually quiet and I'm going to do some reading and writing before the hymns start in the cavernous church across the street.