morning. A sheen of wetness where light should be. Sometimes I think I've been dispatched to nowhere, sometimes I just complain. Sometimes I need the code book to tell the difference. I can't always translate my own heart.
All the lawns in the village are so green against the greyness. The greenness is proof of progress - no matter the color of the sky, spring is coming. North of the village, some of the fields are showing a green tint of weeds coming up. In other places, the blackness of the soil snaps the grey sky back and away.