TTP, The Sunrise, and Spiders

I woke early.  The hallway was so bright I wondered if we'd left an outside light on.  It was an almost full moon, my phone said 4.17am.  I went to the bathroom, before going back to bed and recited nursery rhymes and long forgotten poetry in my head. I couldn't sleep.

At 6.30am I went downstairs and made tea.  John was still sleeping and I didn't disturb him.  The sun was rising and the sky was moving from night to day.

Looking East

One of these mornings,  when sleep evades me  I will walk down to beach and watch the sunrise.   Or may be drive our mini campervan and make my tea down there.

A dream had woken me.  Yesterday Facebook had given me a memory from 4 years ago of being in ICU with a full relapse.   I vaguely remember dictating the post to one of my sons, I don't think I looked at it again, I was too afraid to see the words.  Last night I read all the supportive comments from family and friends.  I am one lucky lady.  

The dream included spiders, probably my biggest irrational fear.  There was a woman sitting quietly in a corner, I recognised her.  Perhaps she was my reassurance.   My son was there looking concerned.  My late father in law was following me around from room to room, reminding me of something I needed to do, I can't remember what that was.  I didn't recognised the house or contents,  although it did seem I lived there.  And there were spiders in every room, running across the floor and over things. 

The spiders this year are particularly persistent.  Usually they visit in the evenings and have the decency to be gone by morning.  Yesterday one had planted himself on the wall in the lounge and didn't move.  John moved him for me.

It seems that I still have a fear of TTP and any anxiety I feel is transferred to my fear of spiders.  At least I'm dealing with it in my way.

At 6.30am, when I was taking photos out of the loft window,  the only sound was that of one solitary blackbird.  I think he lives in the thick brambles behind the shed and we don't want to force him to move.  My dad often said he wished he could come back as a blackbird and I'm always reminded of him when I see one or hear one singing. 

Looking West

When everything is still you notice things that are normally missed.  This morning I could see lights on the top of the masts at Washford and lights on a structure in Wales.  I'll have to look at a map and find out what that is.