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Finding Joy
The early morning is still, silent, sacred
For a grumpy man, the colours in the sky, the sweat of exercise and the gentleness of the morning feel like a blessing.
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In the morning, time feels different, unrushed, says the writer.
ST ILLUSTRATION: MANNY FRANCISCO
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At first light in December the forest is ghostly, the winter mist threading through the trees. A river runs silent. The jungle chorus is yet to find its full voice. The tracker and I walk quietly through a national park in India in the aching cold.
It’s over 40 years ago and I don’t like mornings yet. But a jungle walk is akin to an invitation to watch a Martin Scorsese film. It’s illegal to refuse. On the river bank lies the carcass of a prey, its body torn by a great beast whose pugmarks we follow up a small inclined gully in the thick grass.
