It was exquisite.

Despite sleep still pressing lightly on my senses, I could hear it in the distance.

I mistook it for a call to prayer – the voice clearly singing Arabic – but the sound was not a call to prayer, it was music. And at the far reaches of 5am, the sun still blushing below the horizon, I heard the music in spite of the competing cricket serenade.

I lay in bed, the chill of the morning resting lightly on top of that voice sharing beauty – sunrise caught in song before catching in clouds, joy in sound, love in music.

I listened and then fell again to sleep, guided there by soft singing in the early morning.

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