A fine October weekend
we've just passed through - warm, bright, breezy. We cannot complain of the season thus far along, and November rolls in with sunrise and mist and some tenderness too. Although we hear there is a cold front coming our way: there are shivers around the corner.
We don't usually notice the world around us but merely pass through it. Yet if one stops to see, to see deeply - how beautiful the light on this cloud, how wonderful the pattern of a tree against the sky, like lace. Sometimes we mistake life for our riding through it.
No frost on the windshield this morning. A warm puff of morning's breath. The light has been moved on us - it is higher in the sky as I leave for work today.
There is a soft greyness to the east; to the west, broken blue overhead.
The smell of pig manure. The sight of fields put away for winter. Geese strung out along the western sky like a doodle in pencil, writ lightly.
In Ripon a crow flies across my path. He shines like a piece of coal.
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