Early morning gifts

Early morning outings are my way to re-connect, get inspired and relax. Travels along gravel roads mean taking a much slower pace and gifts me with the time to accomplish all three. 

Depending on the time of year will certainly dictate the hour I gather up my writing gear and camera to steal away from home or one of our favourite lodgings. It’s usually just before the sun is supposed to poke its head over the ridge. 

​On this particular outing, it had rained hard the previous evening and the morning dawned with a heavy mist cloaking the familiar landscape. In the East, the sun did not yet have the strength to unravel itself from the blanket covering most of the land. In the West, the remnants of an almost full moon hung above the clouds and mountain range. Eventually slipping in behind the peaks to hide away for the day.

​The wet, mudded road had me driving slower than my normal slow. And with the mist snuggled up to the ground, it was an eery journey towards the pond and my favourite writing hill beyond.

Slowing near the pond, I noticed what looked like several bits of white material on the road. My first thought was someone had decided to toss their garbage out, but as I drove past, it was clearly not trash, and I carried on with a plan to have another look on my way home.

​Taking the time to welcome the day in silence means the vehicle is shut off, windows are down, and life in my world is as it should be. In this place, I have been visited by a young bull moose, a doe with her fawn, and the sounds of sandhill cranes, hawks and cattle. I had never experienced the sounds of the mournful call that came from the misty expanse to the southwest of where I was parked. A shiver went down my spine and a tingle danced at the base of my neck and a need to record it yelled from my brain. It didn’t matter what the picture part of the few moments of recording would turn out like, it was only the sound I was interested in.

​What gifts the start of this day was giving me! But, now it was time to make my way down the hill, through the dissipating greyness, across the cattle guard to the pond. My one last stop to check on the white blobs on the road.

I have never been certain what makes us do things, or why we are drawn to one item versus another. This morning was no exception as I got out of the vehicle to make my way to the smaller of the three white groups. The larger mounds, I could see were some kind of hair. It was what was in between them that made me shiver.  It was a lone feather that had caught my eye, soggy from the rain and tattered looking. Bending to pick it up, it made me smile, knowing full well it had been left for me to find.

​The days that filled this trip are steeped with emotion. It was the first one I have taken by myself in a long time. These gifts were only some of the gentle reminders that my man is still by my side, watching over me, sharing our time together from a place above where the meadow grass is stirrup deep, and the creek water runs cool and clear.  A place where the feathers float on the breeze, settling where I can find them to let me know I do not make my journey alone.

Ann Edall-Robson
Author, Photographer, Lover of Life
"Capturing moments others may never get to experience."