| Fog |
[Sep. 10th, 2005|06:11 am]
rejectomorph
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Dew dampens the leaves, and the sky is overcast. A thin fog hovers, making distant trees look like pale silhouettes on sheer, gray silk. Dim morning has nevertheless awakened the birds, who now chirp and screech, and dart from branch to lawn and back again, ending the serenity which prevailed all the chilly night. The bracing air (and, most likely, the declining season's longer darkness) has stimulated their appetites. I hear the chuckles of acorn woodpeckers among the varied voices. Autumn must be their favorite season, as their favorite seeds will soon be available in great abundance. I anticipate their antics with as much pleasure as they must anticipate their impending harvest feast.
Each sign of autumn's approach brings me delight. I'm ready for sweaters and the smell of wood smoke that will soon drift from the town's chimneys. I even look forward to the occasional hot day which, detached from summer, brings pleasure by virtue of its contrast with proximate days. Little more than a week remains before the equinox! May the fall be long and slow, blessed with fogs and mists, and mild, measured rains, and not give way too soon to harsh winter. |
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