As heavy rain fell and the dogs refused to leave the loft, we seised the opportunity.
The city was eerily quiet, in the early morning light the tarmac glistened with each raindrop. The usual cacophony of cars, commuters, shoppers, eased into a warm silence.
Perhaps it's age, perhaps it's just a shift, but with each move to a new home, to a new city, the cracks show themselves far quicker.
On these mornings though, there's something almost comfortable in the depressions between fronts, as the weather changes, as the birds fall silent in anticipation of new weather.
As a child living in Africa, we would often wake as the sun touched the horizon, but on these kind of mornings in the mountains, I would sit at the window, watching out as life slowly arose. The best times were travelling, each month we would drive the 13hours between Johannesburg and the Maluti Mountains, we would leave before sunrise and driving through the small villages I would watch eagle eyed, trying to peer into the homes and lives of others as they woke at sunrise.
Now though, decades later, I like to peer with good coffee in hand...
We quietly walked the wet ground towards the city.
A few cars rushed beneath the bridge, their lights trailed into the tunnels with no noise.
Winding through the streets, there was no need to look down. On mornings like this, I feel so disconnected from my phone.
The buildings, the architecture, screams for so much attention as low moody light demands.
I have a few favourites, a few doorways which always command my attention.
I often wonder what's behind the doors, what lies in the history of the bricks and mortar.
With a full imagination of wonder, I quickly realise how empty my stomach is. I have an argument with the curbside as it tries to trip me up and shuffle along, mumbling obscenities. The hunger is setting in.
But just aswell we're in arms reach of Urban Coffee. The barista welcomes us and gets a v60 single origin extraction on the go.
As we sit, comfortable in each others silence, the coffee soothes the soul.
On the next round we order a mocha and hot chocolate, and smashed advo on sourdough.
The world perks up, the rain seems to relinquish.
I sip at my hot chocolate, the sweet richness warms the cold rain away.
With each sip the clouds seem to disperse.
We finish up and relinquish our table to the now queues of those hungry and in need of potentially the best coffee in the city.
Looking up, the buildings look new, clean, shiny in glistening sunlight after the rain.
For the first time what seems like forever, the winter sun has changed, it's warmer, brighter... or perhaps it's just the coffee which has paved the way to rose tinted vision?
If it is, well, I'll take another v60 to go please!