The Mist Descends

We woke this morning to the hushed tones of a drizzly fall morning.  The clouds are so thick that the sun barely shines any light through their grey expanse.  The leaves are rustling wetly in the breeze and the dogs dearly wished they didn't have to go outside for their morning ablutions.  I sit now at my desk, doing the day job that allows me to do my real job – simultaneously raising kids and a farm.  The sky, if anything, has grown darker in the last hour and the rain has sidled into a cold mist that presses down on the yard and the house with a constant insistence.

Today is a good day for candles and a fire.  I have the candles, adding their modest light to my desk while I attempt to work.  The fire will have to wait – there are chores to do.  The chickens will need feeding today, more for the warmth than the food itself.  The eggs must be fetched.  The dogs must be exercised. 

And still, with all these requirements and needs facing my day, I still look outside with pleasure.  I love a cold, wet fall day almost as much as I love the bright crunch of a new snowfall.  It is a great day to sit back, enjoy the grey quiet, and listen to music.  (My recommendation for a day like this . . . see the linksbelow.)