A common sight here in Swamp Fox country as we ease into January is frosted surfaces. Everything glistening as the sun begins it’s trek across the horizon, waiting to pull what meager heat may come and have the ice release frigid embrace. The rooster shuffling feathers declines to announce the days arrival in an attempt to hold that little bit more body heat. You can find cattle laying down, their hides sparkling along with the surrounding terrain. Stillness is the pervading sense which is typically on broken by the sounds of things passing through – the train on tracks over a mile away, the semi enroute over the encroaching four lane, jets high above to the point you strain to separate their beacons from amongst the stars. One can find serenity in solitude, but allowance must be given to allow this world to wash over and through us, else we fail to exist entirely.
Cold southern dawn