I left the house this morning at the usual time, which in these days means at the crack of dawn. Am trying out a morning routine that actually gets me out the door on time or earlier, and so far it is working. The cold wind felt like a slap in the face though, and whatever remaining parts of my brain and soul that the coffee had failed to resurrect, the wind was very efficient.
A few meters down the road I had to decided whether to take the boring concrete path to the bus stop or my favourite path through the fields, which at this hour is still shrouded in darkness and there is a high possibility of wild boars claiming the space for themselves. This is a path I avoid at night when I come home, even if I have a flashlight with me at all times. As an old friend pointed out before, there is a fine line between brave and stupid, and many end up on the wrong side.
The first crevices of light in the sky were appearing, so I figured it was enough to brave the fields. This was rewarded handsomely with a few shots, and I ignored the squishy ground I stepped on to use a fence pole for stability. These are the moments I kept repeating to myself that it was just mud I was stepping on, just mud… just mud… hopefully just mud.