Just before the dawn

It rained in the night. I knew it would. It was all part of my cunning plan - complain about no rain, and Murphy's Law will sort it out. Daytime temperatures have dropped to below 20 degrees and so any amount of rain is now beneficial; the soil is still damp at the end of the day in the shady parts of the garden.
At the crack of dawn, or maybe a little before, I was informed by He Who Can Fix Anything that I was required to accompany him to work (a complicated car shuffle) and so I splashed some cold water on my face, dressed in yesterday's clothes again and traipsed downstairs with a flask cup of coffee at 6.20. He of course had showered, dressed and had breakfast, which is why I didn't have time to. You may well ask.
The sky was only beginning to lighten in the east and traffic was almost non-existent as we headed onto Chapman's Peak Drive. A clear run on a damp road with the fresh smell of recently fallen rain made for a great start to the day. The sea was grey and shiny as a mirror, the sky cloud-covered with a peep of light here and there. In the harbour, despite the early hour, vendors were starting to peel back the tarpaulins, hoping for a good day's trade despite the cooler weather. It was by no means cold; in fact it could be described as a perfect autumn day in Cape Town.

As I drove back along Chapman's Peak Drive, the clouds were parting and a tinge of pink had started to touch the highest, contrasting softly with the pale blue of the lightening sky. The smell of burnt vegetation was enhanced by the dampness as I passed the devastated slopes on either side of the road. The gentle rain was perfect for the process of renewal and regrowth and it won't be many days before the earth reveals what is hidden beneath and lushness returns.
I stopped a number of times on the drive to enjoy the silence and the views that one never seems to tire of. There is no doubt that the hour before dawn is the best part of the day.