One does not have to drive to Aquinnah before dawn to prove how quiet the Island is in late February. But it does make for a good excuse.

Sunsets tend toward the communal, a party moment that brings families, friends and strangers to the water’s edge to clap, raise a glass, and smile at the timeless vision of children at work on sand castles with ocean moats and hermit crab sentinels.

Daybreak, on the other hand, echoes solitude, be it summer, shoulder season or deep winter. Still, an August viewing might include an errant biker or jogger, most likely a few fishermen up since long before dawn, surfers and dog walkers, too.

Not so in February. A drive in the deep dark from down-Island to the Vineyard’s most western shore (arguably not the place to truly watch a sunrise, but so be it) registers a proportion of 7-1 animals to cars on the road. The stretch of Moshup Trail widens the gap to 8-0; a family of skunks, two rabbits, a lone deer, some birds, but no humans to interrupt the flow. Up ahead, Gay Head Light pulses its red-white-red-white welcome mat like some space age tractor beam for those traveling the roads rather than waterways.

Come summer it is easy to recall why one might choose to live on an Island at sea. Come February it is easier to wonder why. The search for something to do, some diversion to pierce the idleness of short days, cold mornings and the vague uneasiness of another binge-watching hangover hovers around every corner.

A good lesson, perhaps, is to try to do less not more, to lean into the quiet and see what develops.

On this particular morning the sun chose not to shine, ceding the sky to a foggy stillness. But eventually a school bus entered the scene, announcing a new day with its own bright yellow beacon. Soon enough a group of young kids emerged from a path in the woods, their school backpacks bouncing as they walked, adding cartoon colors to the mix. No need for parents to watch over as the kids walked up a long hill and then headed off to school.

Island living has a long history of breeding independence. Whalers and early farmers trying to eke out an existence on an often unforgiving land may not have much in common with a few grade-schoolers heading off to school in an early morning drizzle, and yet in a world where quiet and isolation and its close cousin independence grow less possible with each passing megabyte, a connection can be made. The offseason, in particular, brings with it a confrontation with loneliness. In the extreme this is of course dangerous and the community does rise to the challenge with community suppers, free lunches during school break next week at the West Tisbury Library, and nighttime shelters as part of Harbor Homes.

But loneliness and quiet in the norm are not enemies of the people, not by a long shot. In fact, they may be the healthiest alternatives to a hyper-connected modern world. So say a quiet yet emphatic yes to February. It’s a revolution in the making.