It’s a frosty morning here at the homestead. It feels like flea killing weather, although since I disposed of all my outside thermometers, I have no way of knowing. It’s just cold, a crisp winter cold. It feels good. The morning sky has some nice color to it. A thin layer of clouds is participating in the festivities, doing with sunlight as clouds do with sunlight. Reflect it and return lovely colors.

I’ve often wondered if our long-ago ancestors ever looked up at the clouds playing in the morning sun and went, wow. Did they even see beauty? Surely, they did. Isn’t that one of the human brain’s secrets? Also, what else was there to do wandering around the savannah? Although, maybe looking for food and shelter was a full-time occupation. Perhaps I could ask a homeless person what they thought of this morning’s sunrise. That might give me some insights.

What if being able to enjoy nature is one of the benefits of being well off? The cold felt good this morning, but I knew I was going right back into my centrally heated stone house. And I certainly didn’t have to sleep out in it, although I’ve done that, for pleasure as opposed to necessity and I had a nice sleeping bag and a good tent. Plus, I knew it was for a weekend. I think that will give me something to do today, a point to ponder, and I can do it in my nice home with plenty of food and the company of my cat. All things considered, it feels luxurious.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye; A Caregiver’s Tale