The Honest Courtesan

The landscape after an overnight snowfall is so very beautiful in that time between dawn and the sun rising high enough to melt it.  Everything is covered with a soft, dry flocking that absorbs sound, so the storybook scene is accompanied by a hush that instills a sense of peace and well-being.  Right now, dawn is about a quarter to eight here, and I wake up about 30 to 45 minutes after that and usually manage to drag myself out of bed by about quarter to nine or so.  I go downstairs, wash my face, and then give the animals their morning feed before preparing my own breakfast; I put on my wellies and walk out to the paddock in my robe, leaving well-defined prints in the powdery snow.  By ten or so the sun is usually high enough to start turning the dry snow into wet slush, and by early afternoon the beauty has vanished like faerie treasure, leaving nothing but muck and patches of grungy ice behind.  I’m definitely not a morning person, but in late autumn and early winter the mornings are dark, gentle, and quiet enough for even a child of shadow to appreciate them, especially when she has no place to be but home and nothing in particular to do on anyone’s schedule but her own.