It is a grey morning -
again. It is winter somewhere near. Here the temperature is about 40 degrees. There's a storm to the west and northwest. Here, a moistness. Wet streets as if it might have rained during the night.
It is a mild morning as I step outside, yes. To the north, the greyness is tinged with a hint of a sandy-shell hue behind it. No wind in the flag at the cemetery. Out in the country, mist; trees wrapped with a gauze of it. A loud SHHHT of tires on asphalt. The loveliness of tawny ditches on both sides of the road.
Right at the south edge of Ripon, real rain. On the radio, the poetry of Emily Dickinson, crackling in the air with the real power.
What gets me here, Tom, is the loveliness of tawny ditches. I hadn't thought to consider them lovely, before. Thank you.
Posted by: Rachel | November 27, 2007 at 06:41 AM