The sky is dark and the digital clock in Harvard Square tells me there’s still a quarter to go until six. The roads are empty and a few people, those last, barely, and first awake walk down the sidewalk. Pairs huddle together. Two older women hold hands.
My long underwear scratches my legs for the first time since winter gave way to spring in April. The first cold morning has settled on Camberville, bringing with it frost clinging to fallen leaves and clear sunrises.