I find triumph waking ahead of the sun. When the sky is white and cold. I like to sit by the water, watching the ripples hug my feet, wishing I had a book to fit my ambience. An oasis of serenity to lead way from my silly head. I sit there with my eyes closed and feel the wind, sometimes it speaks to me. Sometimes it cries. Hours pass and l unlatch the glass door, my borrowed pajamas drag on tiptoe, against the bitter and gridded floors. The room looks like a studio now, I sleep under a pull light.