This morning was our first real frost of the season.
As part of my getting ready ritual I ran to my car, turned the defrost on high, then went back into my little house to finish my warm tea. The outdoor cold brings a crisp quiet to the neighborhood, but it’s usually quiet at 6:30am anyway.

Where I work is not in town – it is out off a small highway surrounded by fields and hills. I arrive at work before anyone else. When I park my car and step out, there is usually a moment I pause and look around at the sunrise.This morning the sun was hitting the frosty grasses and trees and making them glisten. The sky was quiet with no birds chattering. I felt isolated and at peace with my surroundings.

These silent wintry mornings are times where I can imagine a post-apocalyptic world with a minimal population and survival of the fittest.
It sparks my imagination and stories run through my head.

I’ve always been an imaginer.
I suppose growing up an only child who moved often would create that as a survival skill.

When I was in my teens, a good friend of mine and I would often go to a field near our small country town and pretend that we were the last people on Earth. Some days we were a team searching for others, other days we were strangers to each other and had to figure out if the other was friendly or not, and then if we wanted to join forces or battle to the death.

Those days were usually warm spring or fall days, where being outside for long periods of time was an enjoyable adventure.
But these wintry mornings spent in solitude often remind of those care-free days running in the fields.

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