4:00 in the morning

It's 4 in the morning. I can't sleep. Again. I lie in bed with my eyes closed, pretending that the world doesn't exist, that I will squeeze into the reality of dreams for a moment. After a few, maybe several dozen minutes (who knows exactly how quickly seconds pass when you lie in the dark emptiness of your dragging thoughts...) I take a book. Maybe it will tire my eyelids enough? The December Wind plays cold stories on the old, tired logs of my cottage. Ok, the Wind won. I can see the outline of a Linden tree dancing with him outside the window, so I get out of bed. The chill outside the duvet is instantly refreshing. The thermometer at home shows 14 degrees. Wierzba welcomes me with sleeping joy. Of course, we go outside together - after all, she has to help me! The wind is colder than I thought, but I still don't want to put on anything but a dressing-gown. I have the impression that the world around it is strained to the limits of stretch with cold. Even Wierzba enters with me to the boiler room. Then time for the horses. They are a bit surprised to get breakfast at a time when they are still snoring tasty, but not whining abou it at all. The quiet, warm crunch of hay slowly spreads in the stable, while the Wind and Frost invincibly invite to a dance in which hands ossify in a flash.

Wierzba was so "brave" that moved for a meter from the wall of the house... Moments after we return inside, there is a tugging at the door handle. Lord Nothing Good (Sol has many nicknames, this week reigns this one). He can't come with us. Never... He always knocks a few minutes later... Sometimes I get the feeling that he is lurking outside watching the front door, then counting down "this time!". With a soft but imperious murmur, he demands breakfast.

When everyone is satisfied and with full bellies they can continue lazy snoring, I watch the blue world outside the window by the light of a calm candle. For a moment, even the wind stopped. The silence is such huge that I can hear the water heating in the pipes. It will be warmer in the house soon. Only Lord Nothing Good has burned his whisker in the flame of a candle. Again.

The sky in the east is slowly turning pink. I think it's time for a moment for myself and small morning coffee.