Because I was in bed by 8, wakefulness pounced on me by 1 a.m. I found a cold, still morning waiting when I went outside. Frost-covered surfaces sparkled, and even the furnace’s steam floated sideways instead of drifting upward. While standing out on the landing with a cup of coffee steaming a little later, a young man drove up and came up the steps to let my neighbor’s dog out. (At least I now know who let the dogs out.) As he descended the steps, the unseen ice and frost on the last few steps from the deteriorating and dripping gutters caught him by surprise. He fell, his body accordioning down the last few steps, even as he held onto the dog’s leash. I stepped inside quickly without thinking. I hoped to spare him any potential embarrassment of being seen. Not that either ice or gravity was his fault. And certainly not the lack of accumulated maintenance for my apartment building. I returned outside a few minutes later as he ascended the steps. He quickly confessed that he’d fallen down the stairs, not that his awkward gait or hands clutching at his lower back didn’t signal what might have happened. I quickly learned to respect the invisible ice here the first winter. And if I momentarily forget? My cameras will record me doing impromptu gymnastics as my hands wildly flail ineffectively as gravity drags me to the concrete below.

Later, I watched the small fox that traverses the main parking lot entrance make his way south across the pavement. As it did, a neighborhood cat who prowls our building late at night spotted him and froze in place, its eyes carefully appraising it. There is always an ever-changing litany of visiting cats in our neighborhoods.

At 4:36, I heard a man’s voice screaming as I sat at my computer making Xmas surprises and pictures. The cold, still air outside must have amplified it artificially. I stepped outside and listened as he continued to scream in angry bursts. The words were incomprehensible, as was the man’s motive for such anger on an early Sunday morning. It continued for about two minutes and finally fell silent. No sirens ensued, so I assumed that whoever was on the receiving end of the tirade was safe and that any listening neighbors groggily turned over in their beds and decided it didn’t warrant a call.

Though immersed in a world of creativity, the outburst flared an intense bout of loneliness in me. It triggered memories of so many nights and holidays ruined by the calamitous rise of both ire and shouting.

That kind of anger signals both helplessness and hopelessness. The people engaging in it have lost control or sight of the fact that the very act of being able to shout belies an opportunity to be thankful. True despair elicits silence.

I let AI render a picture I made, hoping it would capture the silence of the morning, pierced by strangers’ lives briefly intersecting with mine.

Last year, I devised a new word, “angstmorgen.”

I’d like to add another, “wakksol.” Both for the root meanings of the anticipation of the sunrise and the fifth note on certain scales.

Let the day bring different music.

Love, X