Seagulls screaming at each other. Wake me up too early. Blame myself, balcony door left open overnight but what else to do in summer? Plug my ears and fall asleep again whispering "summer".
Walk to work, tired. Empty streets, a few exceptions: cars on the road to the hospital; flower shop lady setting up her fragrant merchandize on the sidewalk display; lady with golden retriever meets lady with shetland sheepdog; insurance company staff hiding in their poorly lit rooms; a pair of swallows swooshing past my head, so close that I duck. The quiet of a small town a summer morning. Half of the town out of town, half the country out in the country, fishing and sunbathing and barbecuing at primitive or not so primitive summer cottages.
In the bookstore, people wandering in and out wearing skirts and shorts and short sleeves, commenting the heat, commenting summer showers, wondering when the heat will return. No stress. Suntanned faces. Smiles.
Walk home, tired feet. Stop for a takeaway pizza from Turkish place, wait with a tabloid before me, scan the headlines: hermit OAP starved to death, B-list actor slapped a fan, suspect financing of political party. Home, seagulls no longer screaming, draw the curtains against the garish sunlight.
Dream of weekend when I too head for the seaside where I will survive without electricity and running water and the internet. Just the simple cottage, the sea and the forest, the family and the birds and the sun and the gorgeous, lovely Finnish summer.
The sun will not set tonight either, or maybe just for a minute if he is tired.