Wake up. Wake up……

The morning call of the cicadas creep slowly into his consciousness, as he stirs in his soft bed, one foot in slumberland and the other in reality. The morning was already half done, but he was in little hurry. Life in paradise is slow and idle, and indolence is commended, not shunned like in the city where he was born. Despite lacking the modern creature comforts of air-conditioning and stereo waking music at the flick of a switch away, and the fact that is was getting pretty warm as the sun begins to oven up the day, he was enough unto himself. One does not need much in life to be enough, which is of course contrary to modernity’s concept of happiness through a vicious, never-ending consumption of materialism. He knows though, and constantly seeks to counter his burdened upbringing through awareness of such thoughts. Yes, and such musing on the simple joy of the feel of a worn-out rough bedsheet wrapped around an equally old but tender mattress, is perhaps his one greatest past-time. 

Bit by bit, he wakes, and feeling every nuance of motion in his neck, arms and waist, he sits up on the edge of his bed, head drooped down with eyes closed, savouring the initial grogginess that signal he waking of the senses.

To be continued…