I wake with a sore throat and all the other aches and pains, my companions. It rained all night and the frost is gone, for now. Earlier, I think I did hear a bird call, just once before sunrise. Before breakfast, the it service man calls and accepts coffee but cannot solve the mysterious wifi problems. Because, so he says, this wave of gadgets and clouds with their blue teeth and constant additions and updates and whatnots, it's too fast and too much for mere humans to cope with. He switches a couple of sockets around like a priest performing a secret ritual. We agree that at least the sun has come up.
Once upon a time we lived in paradise and climbed the Nid d'Aigle mountain on a new year's day, up and up the narrow track, through thick humid forest with the odd voodoo doll on a stick or a fish head dangling from a branch, hissing insects, slipping on damp rocks until we finally reach Belle Vue where the skies open and the sun is so brilliant it takes your breath away.
Some mornings, this memory is all I need.