Departure

The still of the early morning.

The glow of the taxi in the inky darkness.

The vague thrill that comes with being awake while the rest of the world is still asleep.

The unexplained sense of impending doom (possibly associated with airport procedures).

Pulling the front door gently closed in the pitch dark of four in the morning.

Saying goodbye to my life for the last 13 years. I’ve left the keys inside because I won’t be needing them for a long, long while.

Padding silently to the waiting chariot.

Realising with a start that I’ve forgotten something and it’s pitch black and it’s four in the morning and the taxi’s waiting and I don’t have a key to my own house.

Scrabbling about in the garden in the pitch black at four in the morning with the taxi still waiting, searching for the spare key hidden in the garden and trying not to wake the chooks.

A final, unscheduled, silent good-bye to the inside of the house, and then, well, departure.

Ah, the adventure of travel.