Crashbox

These cold mornings are breathtaking sometimes. A deep and overwhelming silence surrounds my uncle's house when I return from work in the morning---everyone is still asleep, even the birds. The silence is so complete, that standing in front of his old farmhouse with its peeling paint and sagging roof, I seem to be alone in a world of ghosts. It is chilly, still and grey; heavy clouds brood overhead and everything is dead. The expectancy for Spring has begun to creep into the air, the branches, and the brown grass, but for the moment, all still sleeps. There is an odd sense of urgency all around---a calling that fills one with the desire to set out across the hills and streams...almost a searching. A motivation that whispers: now is the time...