One late November morning though, the great grandfather clock in the hallway intruded on my sleep and woke me up as the sun was rising. I climbed out of bed, tentively padded across the room and drew open my curtains. Perched on top of a valley, my bedroom overlooked the fields and villages beyond. It was one of those perfect early winter mornings. The ground was covered with a heavy, glistening frost and the sky appeared as though it had been blended with pastels under a veil of calm water. A rosy hue had settled and engulfed everything as far as my eye could see. I opened the window and was suddenly struck by the cold air. It expanded in my chest as I breathed it in, invigorating me and wrenching me out of my sleep induced state. I knew in that second that I had to be out there and be a part of it.
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