It’s nearly dawn as I stealthily make my way up the center of the gravel road, my eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the heavy morning darkness. My wary heart clatters loudly in my chest as I look to the right, to the left; and then, with a start, over my shoulder as a mournful hound howls across the valley, and little creatures rustle in the grass as I tiptoe by. I turn for one last look at the dark, curtained windows behind which my sleeping family lies, and I question my motives for taking this drastic step. Stoically, I turn my back on home and comfort and continue on my way.
There, a hundred yards from me, crouches a menacing, threatening hulk and I stop in my tracks, trembling with fear. It doesn’t move, so I hasten on glancing behind me from time to time until I’m safely beyond its range. I increase my pace lightly until my heavy breathing slows me down. I consider turning back, giving up this crazy scheme, but, having made this commitment, I must follow through.
A little farther on, looming against the gray gloom, are three gigantic forms, joining forces near the fence line. I wonder if I can sneak by without inviting attack or physical injury to my being. I tense all my muscles, hoping to appear smaller, unworthy of harassment; slowly, one step at a time. The forms move slightly. I freeze. Again, they stand still. I carefully creep by and the danger for now is past. Only then do I realize I’ve been holding my breath for what seems like hours. Is it worth all this? I’m told it is.
I am on the main highway now. The lights of an oncoming car approach and I move quickly into the grass by the edge of the road. Headlights sweep over me and I fear the car will stop; a man will force me in and whisk me away, never to be seen nor heard from again. I ready my body to spring into flight, but the car passes by without incident and I am safe once more.
I quietly tread by a farmhouse, my shoes strike loose gravel and it crunches underfoot. Two dogs loudly protest the interruption of their slumber. They bark, each trying to outdo the other. I pray there are locked gates or chains between them and me. Their barking wakens the occupants of the house and lights go on in several windows. I hurry past, not relishing the idea of being reported to the police as a “peeping Tom-ette” or a possible fugitive from the law.
I stumble in a pothole in the road and nearly fall head first, wince in pain as my ankle turns. But I trek on, shoes soaked from the morning dew. Barn lights twinkle across the countryside as morning milking gets underway and I feel less alone when I see that I am not the only person on earth awake at this ungodly hour. Streaks of pink start to lighten the sky, dawn is on the verge of breaking.
The air is fresh, exhilarating, and, for the first time since stepping out into the cool, dark morning, I am pleased with my venture. The sun peeks above the eastern horizon and it is almost as if the curtain of night has been raised by the hand of God and Scene 1 of His new day is thrust forth on stage in all its glory. I feel rather privileged to view this breathtaking spectacle, a sight reserved only for the very early riser.
Suddenly, an invisible conductor lowers his baton, giving the signal for the birds to join in a sonata to this spring-like morn. I impulsively join in and they fall silent, startled by my human invasion of their feathered choir.
The world seems to be wakening by degrees; dusk-to-dawn lights blink out as the sun begins its shift, pink sky melds into dappled blue. I feel reborn and very much aware of being alive. I turn and head for home, kicking my heels like a frisky colt experiencing the joy of running free after the confines of winter.
Nearly home, I laugh aloud, the sound tinkling in the crisp air like merry bells, as I recognize the three oversized forms who had “threatened my very life” at the start of my journey as being our farm horses – Betsy, Sugar, and Dusty. They look very surprised to see me in the early morning light. The single threatening “hulk” is in reality a large, round hay bale, resting harmlessly in the field beside our drive. How unreliable sometimes is imagination!
By now, you must be wondering what drove this writer to forsake home and family, risking life and limb to journey forth in the wee morning hours and why I am returning home one hour later. Perhaps you have already guessed – I am a jogger, and they were right – the first IS the hardest!!
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