It is always discombobulating for me. I feel adrift. Which of course, I am. I wake in a strange bed, too early, and when the rest of the house is fast asleep. There is no helping it. My body is used to waking in the wee hours. Outside it is pitch. I can hear the rain, heavy. P. snores next to me. I’ve been to the loo, done some yoga, drawn and read. I long to make tea, eat and shower. But not yet. Not yet.
