The car crackled as frost broke when I first opened the car door, this morning. It is an icy and cold morning as I start down the marsh trail. Foggy, too.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Days of rain and gloom in the mornings have given way to autumn afternoons, some mild, some unexpectedly warm, others drizzly and chilly. This morning we get the first frost here where I am, but the freeze warning for the 24-hour period made it clear colder weather would be happening, and the frost visible all around was a thin glaze of clear ice on bridges and overpasses, and “black ice” is an obvious risk this morning. I drove with caution, mindful to stay at safe speeds for icy conditions.

… Being safe is smart, even if tech bros and AI fanboys don’t understand that…

I am similarly cautious as I head down the trail. I am warmly dressed, appropriately for the weather, and I have my headlamp adjusted for best visibility in foggy conditions. It just doesn’t take much to keep safety in mind. The journey is more comfortable and pleasant when it is a safe one.

Am I “risk averse”? Damn right, I’m risk averse. I’ve taken my share of risks, and based on experience, I finding taking a safe path is generally the wiser choice. Will I take risks? Well, yeah. Sometimes the predictable risk looks manageable and the outcome worth that risk. I still favor a safe path when I’ve got one, in most circumstances.

I walk with my thoughts through the predawn darkness. Daylight Savings Time ends tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to the days of disrupted sleep and medication timing, but I get through it every year, even though the stupidity of DST leaves me bemused. Do people really think that changing the clocks changes the reality of diminishing day length as the season changes? Human primates, eh? So inventive. So imaginative. So willing to make dumb decisions because the idea seemed good at the time. Slow down. Choose wisely.

I get to my halfway point in the dark. It’ll be dark when I walk on, too. Not my preference, but I don’t think changing all the clocks to avoid darkness makes sense. I wear a headlamp instead.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My breath mingles with the fog. I hear movement on the marsh… somewhere. I don’t see anything. There are no sounds that alarm me, but like the deer I keep a watchful eye. In the darkness, I rely more on sounds for threat detection. The morning is cold and quiet. The source of the noise emerges from the meadow grasses along the trail. Racoons. A large female escorting a group of smaller racoons crosses the trail, some of them playful, some adventurous, some of them stay close to her as the group travels. If one of them spoke to me in a human voice as they passed, “nice morning for it”, or some other polite greeting, I wouldn’t be surprised – but I also don’t expect it. It’s a strange foggy morning on the marsh before dawn.

I meditate awhile. I write. I reflect on thoughts and ideas and inspiration for new paintings. This quiet time is reliably my own, and I enjoy it. Later a manicure and maybe some studio time. For now I am here, now, and it is enough. I’ll walk on when I get too cold to sit longer; that’s soon enough for beginning again.