Last month, I trodded through the backyard thirty minutes before sunrise. We border our high school’s property, and they have some impressive aged pine trees. Beyond those is a stretch of road and then a field.

It was the fog’s fault. Or Little Miss Muse. (I guess that’s her name now. Little Miss. It fits.)

I’d stood at the kitchen window and thought how cool it would be if I could capture the early morning fog with the tree and the road and the rolling field. It’d make an awesome book cover. Since most of my stories have an element of death or drear in them, it would fit somewhere.

I had on my slides and was dressed for church. By the time I crossed the back yard, the hems of my pant legs were muddy and my socks were soaked with melted frost, but for a few minutes, I was alone. Surrounded by the damp and cool, accompanied only by one screeching crow—also fitting for the setting and elements in many of my stories. I took a couple of shots and was aggravated because no matter where I stood in the yard, the power lines and sewer grates showed up. And I’m not that adept at PhotoShop.

I walked further and further away from the house to find a clear enough section (that wasn’t smack in the middle of the road—we have crazy drivers near the city/county line) to aim and not have to edit too much.

If we weren’t leaving soon and I didn’t have to change clothes, I’d have stayed quite a while, watching the light play with the fog. Maybe capture that angry crow in midflight. Sit still enough and wait for our family of deer (our family, like we own them or something) to show themselves in the tree line across from the field. Each spring we have turkeys that waddle their young ones into our backyard for whatever reason. It’d be cool to sit still enough to have them pass right by me. Close enough to see them wink.

Then it struck me. Maybe this is what Max and Marie felt in Red-Winged Blackbird. Or what the kids felt in The Sunrise Project.

Alone but not alone. In the quiet and solitude.

In an earlier blog, I mentioned wanting to learn/do some new things this year. Something different. This is one thing I’d like. Out before dawn, before the world starts moving and honking and hurrying. Take a walk or leave a camp chair out behind our fence so I can drag it over to the pine tree and watch the sun come up. Learn how to capture those sunrises/sunsets/weather phenomenon in my own backyard.

I might take a drive an hour before light and find an old cemetery or river’s edge. Or farmhouse. Watch the light. Wait for the right moment and snap.

With no filters needed.

Thank you for hanging out for a bit. Check back on Mondays for a new blog and the first Friday of every month for a free fictional short, and be sure to visit my Amazon page.