A Collection of 5 a.m. Strolls Down My Street

Alina Sewani, 2A, Mathematics/Chartered Professional Accountancy



You hear the birds before you see the sun.

They never seem to stop singing,

Calling you outside to marvel at the world.

A cloud of them fly off as you walk underneath a tree;

Still singing, always singing,

Despite the light rain falling.

So light it’s almost a mist,

Droplets slowly collecting on your skin.

Almost like a light sheen of sweat,

Catching on eyelashes and misting glasses.

You can taste the rainfall in your breath

As the scent of damp earth begins to rise around you.

It heads to the sky,

Just beginning to lighten with the rising of the sun

It’s asking you to stay, to wait,

To start the day with a slow sunrise,

To soak in the rain,

And listen to the music of the birds.

But instead you go inside,

To catch a few precious hours of sleep.



You wonder if the Sun ever sleeps,

Its golden rays forcing your eyes open,

The light warming you

More than your morning cup of coffee ever could.

You understand why cats like to stretch in sunbeams,

Tilting your head to let the light catch on your cheek,

While the birds sing ever loudly,

Melodies rising from a nearby tree,

Bright green against the sky,

As it slowly shifts from purple,

To a cotton-candy blue.

It seems to ask you to stay,

To stay awake like it,

To start the day with the waking of the sun,

But the buzz of insects shakes you out of your stupor,

And, remembering where you are,

You pause, hoping that you aren’t underneath a wasp nest,

And return to the bug-free safety of your home.



The first thing you notice is the smell;

The damp decaying earth reminds you of spring,

But there’s crispness to the air

That makes you remember the oncoming winter.

The morning is chilled with dew just starting to turn frosty,

As it settles on fallen leaves,

Too wet to make a satisfying crunch.

You walk down the dimly-lit path.

The sun is starting to hide away now;

No longer a constant companion from summer,

Darkness begins to take its place.

The decaying leaves remind you of death,

And you finally understand why Halloween is in October,

Because nothing is as haunting as this;

The dampness that seeps through your jacket,

And through your skin to your bones,

As the wind blows and knocks dying leaves from trees,

And the sun barely peeks through a cloudy sky.

You go back inside,

To remind yourself that you’re still alive.



It’s quiet.

The kind of quiet that surrounds you;

It’s an ice blanket,

Chilling you to your core,

And the sky is pitch-black.

The only light is the yellow-orange of the lampposts.

You’re drawn to the glow,

Warm and comforting.

The silence is louder than a thousand birds,

Closing you in on yourself,

But there’s a comfort in the empty quiet,

That makes you pause,

That stops you in your tracks,

Walking in slow steps around the same spot,

Not quite wanting to leave,

Not quite wanting to stay.

So instead you pause,

Finally feeling at home.