Friday the thirteenth, February,  2026 5:45 33F (0.5C) It is dark and quiet.

A single star pierces the overcast.

On the back deck Walter naps with one eye open, vigilant even while sleeping.

A car rolls by,  headlights slashing through the morning blackness. It disappears, leaving me in the dark  once more.

I shut off the spa pumps and wait for the mini-split to pause its cycle, listening for the silence of the predawn morning.

No animals are moving, no birds calling from the dark, but it is not so silent as I  had imagined.

The glass factory  down the road is humming.

I  can hear early  traffic on the highway, all the way down the hill to I-84.

A truck crosses the toll bridge,  wheels making the steel grate sing.

Good morning.