Staying in, the closest I had to company was a brief visit from the mockingbird (unless you want to count the ants who invaded the kitchen again, though I don't.) I was thinking perhaps the owls would return after nightfall, but they haven't. Now and then a bit of wind flaps the canvas of the shelter that sits in the back yard next door, and of course I hear the cars passing on the freeway, but other than that it's been surprisingly dead around here. I guess few other people want to get out in that cold either.
I've woken up feeling very sad for the last couple of days. I wonder if I could behaving sad dreams? If so, I don't remember even scraps of them, but it's the only thing I can think of that would account for that dismal melancholy that accompanies my first moments each day. Unless it's just that there's been no morning sunshine getting through that gray sky. Maybe it's seasonal affective disorder. And I used to enjoy gray days so much. Age has a lot to answer for.