Same story each morning: nothing is going through my head apart from the memory of the morning chorus kicking off at 4am.
What wisdom can I impart to the readers of the world on this particularly sunny morning?
And now my idea from sleep has returned.
It comes mooching across the street, tail tucked in tight behind it, nose sniffing the air, ears alert. It looks at me, not straight in the eyes as if in challenge but from the pretence of downcast pupils. Its steps are measured and tantalisingly cautious. I have a titbit held out on the palm of my right hand as encouragement, but the idea continues to sniff the air for possible threats.
My voice has become barely audible, just me and the idea. If I raise my words, others may here and the thing that I am so interested in will just turn and flee back into the shadows.
It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. This is for you, a treat. You must have been so cold out there all through that dark night.
Little by little, step by wary step, it comes within reach.
I hold out my offering and it sniffs before finally snatching from my fingers and racing to the other side of the street where it will stand in readiness to retreat whilst sampling that which it most desires.