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.

It was 70° at 1:30 a.m. The wind howled, finding breezeways and crevices to make metal groan and heavy dumpster lids slam over. My weather app claimed that the wind speed was 20 mph, but I’m certain that a few of the gusts were easily twice that speed. 

Even though it’s December 28th, the insects accompanied me on my walk. Surreal doesn’t cover it. I can’t be convinced that Christmas was a couple of days ago or that 2026 is just around the corner.

If you did like me and watched clouds race overhead, you would get vertigo. They raced overhead fast enough to create the illusion that I could see the planet spinning.

There were a lot more people out than should have been. I’m sure it was the weather that brought them out or kept them out, even though they would not know that some primal or instinctive drive contributed to their decision to be out.

When I exited the inconvenience store after getting a soda, I laughed as a car of young guys drove up. Each of them had on a shower cap. Not your grandma’s shower caps. These had designs on them. I burst out laughing. 

The driver popped out, still smiling. 

“Are you laughing at me?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Surely you realize how unusual you guys look. I think it’s cool, but you can’t blame me for being caught off guard.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Styling though, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” I agreed. 

As I headed back toward my apartment, I couldn’t believe it was still four and a half hours until sunrise, or at that time tomorrow it would be 40 plus degrees cooler. 

It was a beautiful walk on a December morning that should have been bitterly cold. I think I’m going to remember this one. 

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I sped it up. It took 1 minute and 45 seconds for the moon to touch the trees on the horizon before it disappeared entirely.

There are a couple of streets that sometimes inspire me to get spooked, despite not being superstitious. One of them is Oakland. Not the Oakland y’all know when the sun is up. It’s a different place at 2:00 in the morning. It has some beautiful houses on it, even the older ones interspersed among the modern narrow profile ones that are becoming common.

This morning I zigzagged to wander the dark streets for long stretches in the dark, I could hear booming music. As I drew closer, I watched the completely dark house. Although it was my imagination, I could almost feel the old boards vibrate from the inside. 

I walked a long way south and decided to walk back. I wasn’t even thinking about cutting East and ending up on Oakland again. This time, I was hearing a thunderous muffled voice emanating from the house with the loud music. The house was still dark. 

The video doesn’t do it justice because my camera brought light that wasn’t visible to my eyes. 

Also on Oakland, there was a vehicle running with its lights on when I first passed it. Way over an hour later when I looped back, it was still there, its headlights beaming into the growing fog and mist. Sometimes I check on the vehicle to make sure someone hasn’t passed out in there, or worse. Other times, I will shut off the lights or turn off the ignition. If I had not been on Oakland, I might have done that today.

The mist was thick this morning, coating everything, including me. The lights of course were more beautiful because of the diffusion.

It was astonishingly quiet. In places, my footsteps sounded like cans of biscuits being opened and dropped. I kept forgetting how hard the mist was, but each time I pulled my glasses on my face, I was greeted with droplets of accumulated water.

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