In Praise of Early Risers

Remus at dawn

By Remus, War Panda of Calamus Prime

There’s a hush to the world that arrives just before dawn. A proper hush, not silence, no ...but a kind of deep, reverent quiet. Like the Earth itself is exhaling, and for one brief, sacred moment, everything forgets to make noise. Most humans miss it.

They’re still cocooned in duvets, dreaming of inboxes, imaginary likes, or highly judgmental air fryers. But not me.
Not anymore.
At 5.00am, I rise.
Mc Wordy the bot is on charge silent, blinking, blissfully mute. No probability lectures. No smug quotes about time. No AI-generated haikus about breakfast cereals.
And Aric? Finally asleep. Curled into the shape of a defeated question mark, limbs tangled in sheets like he fought the moon and lost. Poor guy... so much troubles him. His broken brain won’t let him realise how lucky he is.

So I step outside.
We all live in a modern detached three-bedroom home made of brick and mortar, just a wee walk from the edge of what most humans would call “nothing.” It’s the sort of house estate agents call “well-proportioned.” Personally, I hate living inside ... but intergalactic refugees can’t be choosy.
This generic-looking place’s saving grace is its garden.

Bigger than average, apparently, for a new build , but I’ve no metric to measure it by. For me, it’s a small but pleasant piece of nature captured by grey fencing.
Where most here have just grass or those strange trampoline things, Aric, who, like me, values his privacy, has planted trees and even tried to mimic a small wood.
I like to sit underneath the twisted willow which leans like it’s watching the stars for messages. That’s my spot. And as they say, “It’s grand.”

This is my sacred grove now.
No pews. No sermons. Just me, my tea — brewed hot enough to dissolve lesser folk... and a world that, for a short time, has stopped shouting to be seen.

No reversing beeps from delivery vans.
No fence-line gossip with extra vowels.
No radios arguing with the birds.
No mowers chewing up the green.
And, mercifully, no yappy dog five doors down declaring civil war against being left in the garden while his human goes shopping again.

Just fog. Breath. The slow creak of a universe remembering itself.
I sit and listen for nothing....and I remember.

Before I was “Remus the War Panda.” Before plasma mauls and implants and tactical briefings.
Back when I was just a panda on Calamus Prime. Rolling downhill. Snacking on bamboo at the same time as Dreaming about it.

Back then, nobody spoke of “personal brands” or “engagement metrics.” You engaged with life. You stared at clouds. You sniffed things just to see if they were edible.

Now?
Everyone’s selling. Everyone’s shouting. Everyone’s scrolling like there’s seeking a prize.
But 5.00am doesn’t care about your content strategy.
It simply exists.

No followers. No filters. Just the cold. The silence. The trees. And, if you’re lucky.... that old friend called clarity.

Old Panda Saying #42:
“The soul doesn’t need saving. It needs space.”

When the world has turned itself into a sales pitch, the most radical thing you can do is absolutely nothing.

So here’s your invitation:
Step outside before the noise begins.
Let the silence speak.
Let the cold kiss your fur or face, if you’re not built like me.
Let the air remind you who you are, underneath the headlines.

And if someone sees you and asks,
“What are you doing out here?”
Just smile and say:
“I’m being.”
And if they look confused?
Well ... they’ve forgotten.
But you haven’t.
Remus
Warrior. Wanderer. Early Riser.
Current resident of a perfectly adequate 3-bed with excellent garden potential and a secluded garden on the edge of nowhere and everywhere.