The current Belfry is an attic room. The ceiling slopes on all sides and it's easy to feel removed from the world. This can be a good thing, from time to time, but the noise from outside provides an anchor to the world without distracting me or drawing me to it. The gardens below don't generate much noise. There isn't much to spy or eavesdrop on.
I woke up at about 3... it felt like 7. I didn't even notice how dark the room was. It could have been dawn. 3:04 on my phone. I battered my pillows and tucked my duvet a bit. Couldn't check the Sox score. Sleep drifted back now and then and then it was 4 and my eyes shot open. It felt like 7 again. More pillow battering and more fiddling with the duvet... considered briefly stapling my eyes shut. Can't remember if I actually slept or drifted or dreamed.
Five rolled on and I got up. And I listened. I listened and finally worked out what I was hearing. Like an image coming into focus, white noise becoming music. Birdsong, actually. The light out the window was pale, the haar thick, and through the sea fog came an orchestra of birdsong. I wiped my eyes but there was no sleep in them. They sang in force, heralding the coming Spring. I smiled.
Then I shut the window. The needle slipped from the vinyl and I slipped back to bed.
I woke at seven, not at six.