Everything was wet today. There was no rain, no fog, not even mist. The tumbled mass of grey cloud hung above still air which was so damp that dew remained on the grass all day, and the tree trunks were dark with moisture, and the pavements black and shining. It was as though the earth had broken out in a cold sweat. Far to the west, I could see small patches of blue sky and bright cloud above the valley, but the mountains remained in shadow. Only after sunset did the clouds drift west and settle into the valley, and Orion appeared above the orchard as the heavy air at last stirred with a chill breeze. The forest now obscure will remain a huddled mystery until the late moonrise. I am listening for the deer who stalk these dark nights and leave their hoof prints in the wet soil of the flower beds. Three nights running I have heard them at about this hour, and have caught glimpses of their grey forms passing in the darkness. Some night, I will catch them nibbling at the plants outside my window. Maybe tonight.