One week in Chiang Mai

Chiang Mai.
At six in the morning the sun has not yet risen. The rooster has. Every rooster in the village joins. Every noook, (bird) has a song to sing. From my second story window I can hear the trees and the bushes light up with songs. The earth is alive. Caw, Cawk, Cheap Cheep kawk. At the head of the village, a tuneless ‘tong’ marks the hour. Tong Tong Tong. I like to imagine that at the Buddhist temple their going has become warped over the years and years of six-a-clocks. It is likely a rejected piece of metal and a kitchen ladle. Tong Tong Tong. Me-Lee has already risen and set to work making breakfast. Her slow movements reveal how unusually early it is for her. The toy factory doesn’t start until eight or nine and Pe-to doesn’t arise a before it is necessary. Paw-Thai sleeps hard. Waking is not one of his strengths. I don’t believe anything could wake him. Pe-pooie sets to work—not waiting for the sun. She cleans and irons moving efficiently—slowing only a little for being five months pregnant. The world is alive before the sun has risen and everything stands still. A day is about to begun. Slowly the mechanical tick from my plastic quartz reaches six a clock. Time for school.