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There was fog and there was mist and, later, a few stars emerged. No wind has stirred for hours now. The only sound has been the dripping of that slow-gathered moisture. Now even the soft beat of those drops has ceased, and gray morning light has begun to reveal the wet-darkened boles of the pines, the slick, black pavement, and the plush lawn which is beaded with dew. Unseen geese honk from somewhere in the dim sky, and an acorn woodpecker flicks from branch to branch of the mulberry tree, chattering brightly. Even his raucous calls cannot break the serene spell left by the night.
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