I took my cat Güino outside on the landing this morning to listen to the orchestra of birds. When I turned back toward the door, I realized he was shadow boxing with the glint created by my glasses.

I like this picture because he looks real in the shadows created by the cascading light.

Pareidolia is a fancy word to describe seeing faces or patterns in everyday objects. It’s one of those words no one uses. 

This morning, the air was still. Sound carried forever as I walked through secret swatches of darkness. I love knowing all the dark spots where I can see the sky or watch the bats hunt for insects. Where I come through a canopy and a hidden owl shrieks its surprise as I pass under. Sometimes I’m the one surprising the police as they park away from desolate streets or against the dark trees and foliage. I think most of them are accustomed to seeing me now.

I wouldn’t want to describe myself as necessarily normal, but it delights me that I’m the only one out at 2 a.m who’s already slept and taking advantage of the deserted world of the early morning. Everyone else is an outlier and still burning on fumes from the previous day.

The picture is an example of pareidolia. It looks like a face. That picture took 30 seconds of exposure in almost total darkness. I stood and watched the bats flit across the backdrop as I waited for the camera to reveal what was hidden. 

There have been times when I dreaded seeing what might be behind the darkness. When the hair on the back of my neck stands up, or I’m certain I’m being watched. At times, adrenaline hits my system. But I stand there regardless. The biggest danger to me is pepperoni.

It was 75° with 20 mph winds early this morning. It felt amazing. Large trees creaked in the wind. 

After walking a random labyrinth of city streets, I walked out of fayetteville’s clutter and into open sky. 

Traffic was unusually light. Not that there’s much at 3:00 a.m., but I’ve become accustomed to recognizing the patterns. 

I can’t explain what gave me the heebiejeebies as I passed the last house on 112/Garland. It was as if something or someone unseen had flickered into my peripheral vision. Goosebumps went up and down my body. It was instantaneous. A feeling of almost dread. 

Watching carefully, I used my phone to zoom in, but saw no movement. Walking around to the other side of the empty house, I did the same thing. The tickle along the back of my neck did not lessen. I stood there for a minute and finally walked away without turning my head to take another look. 

I love these moments when something unseen triggers my subconscious. The wind blasting through the trees and across me enhanced the feeling.

I walked barefoot for an hour, meandering. Two little chipmunks came out from some fallen trees to say hello. They were camera shy because they hadn’t had time to go to the beauty salon this week. Deep back into the brush and trees, there were some Northern Parulas. (Sounds like a salad topping.) The males were brilliant green and yellow. 

It could not have possibly been more beautiful back there. 65°, sunlight breaking through the trees intermittently, and all manner of birds almost entirely hidden -but singing and chirping like 8-year-old girls at their first church recital. 

And I can’t write about it without mentioning how brilliant the colors are again for me. Even the 12 different nuances of green. 

The creeks are of course colder than an accountant’s heart but the numbness afterward was refreshing.