Darkness is not stillness.
This morning the birds were quiet. Have they hunkered down against the cold air that's coming? We know it's coming. It's like a loud machine over the hill - you know it's there. We have blue sky, the color of chill. Hope is a rope thrown down to rescue you. Or hope is a hangman's knot. Which?
No dew on anything. A mild morning. The pond is as still as ice, as the calmness of certainty. Today is every day; it holds every possibility. Hope for everything. Hope for nothing. Keep your head down if the wind comes up.
There is color around the rim of earth in all directions, as if the air is thick there, as if it is blood depleted of oxygen.
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