I drive thirty-four miles to work. It takes between forty-five and fifty minutes (even though I drive, shall we say, "pushing the limit" for part of it.) This morning I left just as the sky was beginning to lighten, and I was seven miles from home before I saw another car. Usually I see one or maybe two sooner than that. I've been counting cars since I started back to work in July. I quit counting when I get to the urban county where I work, because traffic picks up a lot then. That means that this morning I saw thirteen cars in twenty-four miles. I don't count the ones waiting in driveways for the school bus, or the ones that cross the road far ahead of me. In all the work days since July I've never counted more than twenty-one.
I count deer, too. This morning I almost hit one. I saw the fawn by the side of the road, because its stripes were not yet faded and picked up the headlights, but Mama was not near the baby, as I expected, but out in the middle of the road by herself. I braked hard, and she crossed safely, but if the fawn had decided to follow, I'd have hit that one. Then a quarter of a mile farther on, five deer crossed the road far enough in front of me for me to react in time.
This morning the sunrise was only a line of pink under the clouds from last night's rain as they disappeared eastwards. No fog, either. Just gradually increasing light.