It’s six thirty am and I am doing what has become a habit this past few months. Wake up at 6 am, plus or minus 5 minutes. Make a large thermal mug of black coffee, with honey.
Take a walk.
The rural location I’m with right now is different each day. Sometimes, it’s dull, grey, overcast. Not so much to see. Other times, there’s a great sunrise going on.
And sometimes I see something unique.
On this day last week, I’m walking down the edge of the field, lightweight Sony A6300 swinging from a wrist strap, sipping on the hot, sweet coffee. I notice that the trees opposite have slight mist hanging just above them. Initially, I’m thinking it’s the remains of overnight fog just burning off as the temperature rises. Then I realise the mist actually developing, not receding.
As I look, the mist is rolling down from the trees and across the field towards me. In what seems like moments, the field is full, the sky gone, I’m surrounded by fog.
Then, as I watch, equally quickly, the mist begins to recede. The most bizarre thing takes place.
As the mist quickly rolls away again and vanishes, two things happen.
Firstly, as you’d expect, the sun breaks the horizon with a beautiful shaft of light.
And secondly, I look down at the hedgerow full of bramble bushes and see dozens, probably hundred, of spider’s webs. Previously invisible, the moisture in the air clings to the webs and makes them stand out in a fine silver structure.
These intricate structures have water vapour clinging to them and highlighting the labours that have gone into the creation. And the deadly traps set all the way along the hedgerows by the builders.
This past few months, I haven’t been setting an alarm. I’ve had no need, as I awake with the sunrise, it seems, whether that is 6:30 or 4:45 in mid summer.
I didn’t used to wake up so early. And the chances are that at some point in the future, the habit will cease and I may well return to a less unusual way of waking, more akin to the conventional alarm call mode that I used to require. Certainly, it would be nice to have a weekend lie in bed at some stage.
For now, though, I earned a special reward last week.
I had been away for seven days and it was almost as if someone, something, somewhere said, “Hey, where you been? You think you’ve seen some cool things this past week or so? Then check this out….”
The whole thing was done in less than ten minutes. I’ve never, ever seen mist roll in so quickly, from utterly nowhere. Neither have I seen it lift once again so rapidly either.
Sometimes, nature seems to simply decide to give you a little treat, over and above the standard miraculous light show or sunrise / sunset every twelve hours or so.
This was one of those days.