Blinded

I sit on the grass as morning dew starts falling. The sun probably isn’t up yet, but it’s just about to. The air is still cold, but I can practically smell the rays of sunshine approaching.
It’s completely silent. No birds are singing, no crickets are playing and no people are noising.
It’s silent – peaceful.
I’m hunched over – my elbows leaning on my knees – with my legs folded. I run my fingertips over the moist grass – the water tickling and cooling.
Even though I’m already blind, I close my eyes in order to feel more.
I open my mouth and inhale a deep breath – the wetness of the air rolling down my windpipe and into my lungs. For some weird reason, it makes me want to cry. The tears tickle the corners of my eyes, but I press them away. I’m not in the mood for crying. I’m enjoying this moment too much to waste it away on crying – over nothing.
Suddenly I feel something warm on my face, and the air around me quickly turns crisp.
The sun is coming up. In a few hours – or 5 – the guys will look out the window and see me sitting here. Even if Frank is the one to see me first, I think he’ll at least inform the others of the fact that I’m sitting out here.
A bird suddenly starts chirping just a few feet away from me. Its shrill sound actually hurts my ears a bit – especially on the higher notes – but I eventually just welcome it as a part of the nature around me.
I inhale deeply and I can practically taste the sun on my tongue.
It’s like a mental cleansing.
I’m ready to face the hardship now.