The air was damp, misty silver weaving over the vacant field like threads from a glittering tapestry of the moon. It was early, early enough that the sun hadn’t yet arrived to soften the chill and to take the dew away, so early that the girl with the red woolen hat and mittens was the only living being about. The ebony sky was beginning to blend with the rays of sunlight that peeked over the crescent horizon, creating a creamy navy blue. Stars still pricked the earth’s dome. The man in the moon continued to watch the girl as she trudged through the fog and ankle length, ice-crisped alfalfa. Hints of color, red, gold, orange and every shade in between, were just becoming distinguishable as light brought clarity to the trees’ autumn hues. And it was pristine, beautiful, concrete, and crystal, naturally flawless. Blameless, faultless, stainless. Untarnished. Perfect.
Crunching footsteps were the only sound that permeated the surreal scene, that and soft, even breaths. The birds were yet sleeping in their nests, perching high among the frosted leaves or gone to somewhere warmer. The people waited subconsciously for their alarms, lids closed and blankets tucked to their chins. But the footsteps continued to crunch. The fibers of the girl’s fur lined jacket were tousled in the icy breeze. She did not turn her collar up at the wind, nor did she cringe from it. She stood still, instead, facing the wind head on and allowing it to gallop through her hair and dance on her skin. When the spasm of wind had passed, the girl lifted her face to the brightening heavens. Her cheeks were ruddy from exertion and frost. The tip of her nose was the color of her mittens.
What a feeling to be the only creature awake. What an exhilarating specter to possess the only beating heart for miles. The girl shivered, not from the cold but from the delicious thought that she was all alone. Cold was a wonderful thing, mornings even more so. Dawn was the only time of day that one could be left alone, to think, to walk, to pray. Mornings had such an invigorating effect, such an excitingly nauseating, spine-tingling sensation like getting on a roller coaster in for the second time. There was an element of knowing anticipation. The girl couldn’t help but smile, and take a moment to breathe. Clouds of dense white floated from her mouth and disappeared into thin air, like magic. Magic like the sunrise.
The sky had become a pastel shade of pink while her back had been turned, and now the whole world was suddenly vibrant and glorious. Sunrise at dawn, sunset at dusk. Day in, day out. Dependable, admirable, amicable. The wind seemed friendlier than anyone the girl had ever met, the moon more understanding, and the trees less quarrelsome. Somehow, sensing the harsh elements on all sides prompted her to consider herself alive, made her feel epically needed. Being part of the happenings of nature was like being a gear in an ever ticking clock. A real, handmade, wind-up clock, and not some digital, plastic assembly line piece.
The girl continued to walk as the mist began to rise. The sun came up. The dew evaporated. The birds woke. The alarms rang. Like clockwork, the day began.