To the north and to the south, the red lights of Morbonne and Sandy Heath transmitters twinkle against the pre-dawn sky. The stars are wrapped behind a blanket of cloud, shielded against the cold north wind. Blowing down from the Arctic, across the North Sea, and unimpeded by the peat black ocean of the Fens, the wind hits my back and pushes me forward.
I fly across the drying farm tracks. Small pieces of mud and grit dance like moths in front of my lights. They ping against my frame adding the noise of their gentle percussion to the steady rhythm of my ride.
An unseen Woodcock escapes my approaching wheel. It launches into the air, a blur of motion that lifts my heart rate. Further down the track Partridges and rabbits stare at my lights then disappear beneath dark hedgerows where the night still lingers.
My brakes judder down a slope as I approach a junction. I turn left back onto tarmac to rejoin my commute route and head for work. I am leaving the best part of the day behind me.