My journey across the familiar field felt different. Even surreal.
Just one step. Then one more. And one step after that.
It was hard to see more than two steps ahead of me. It was a path I'd traveled many times, but today was like standing in a cave with the lights out.
Light is an illusion. Not light really. More like a faint glimmer of gold around the edge of the moon during an eclipse viewed through a double thick welder's mask.
Yet, none of the ground under my feet got me any closer to the glow. If it didn't smell like the field I knew, I might have thought to be walking on a treadmill.
The lack of vision made each step an awkward robotic lurch. A hand sweeping in front from side to side. Then carefully lifting and sliding my foot forward, rubbing against long blades of prairie grass.
There was a breeze from my left. It's difficult to have a sense of direction when there isn't a ball of fire in the sky. I think that's east, but can't be sure.
Layer after layer of cloud are veiled in front of my face, more like 50,000 shades of gray that create a series of shadows which might be real... or maybe not.
On the 50th (yes, I counted) pace across the field I felt something click.
Ahead at two o'clock, isn't that gray a little whiter than it was a second ago?
Two steps that direction place a rock in my path. Discovered by my chin two seconds too late.
Exclamations with a muffled echo fall into the grass. Hands rubbing my lower leg discover a tear and a thick liquid. I can't see it, but I know what it is.
Straightening again, I step cautiously, using taps with my toe to keep the rock out of my way and move ahead.
It is getting brighter. Darker lines are sketched into the etching before me, gray - less gray - and almost white.
Heading to the white the breeze picks up. It's in my face now. Four steps and 30 seconds later I feel something new. Warmth. It is definitely warmer here.
And brighter.
That's when the first ray breaks through. Each succeeding step becomes easier.
More confident. Sure footing.
There's a green border to my field of vision and the distant sound of birds in trees.
Then the sun tears through fog like kids at Christmas - shining its spotlight on a distant tree lighting it up.
It's spectacular.
Note to self: for the next scheduled predawn autumn amble strap wear chin guards.
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