Damp

A night of misty hours, the world lit by faintly luminous clouds, the masses of bare oak twigs hazy, like frozen puffs of smoke against the sky. The frogs never tire of singing their song. Other than that, silence. Every outdoor surface is damp. Toadstools sprout on the lawn and from the gravel path. The chilly air has the dank smell of winter, redolent of decaying plant life, but is also scented with growing grass. Though it is still January, there has been for days the feeling that we are on the cusp of the seasons. Only the long darkness and the slow, deferred brightening of the mornings reminds me that we are still almost two months from the equinox. I wonder how long this meteorological limbo will linger? I could almost wish for a blizzard, just to break the monotony of it.

Forearmed

By the way, if you see odd stuff on your friends page today, it might have to do with this:

January 27th is the Second Annual LiveJournal Rabbit Hole Day! Because we can pretend that the world makes sense the other 364 days of the year.

It's apparently in honor of Lewis Carroll's birthday.

I propose that we establish a LiveJournal Arse Hole Day. I have not yet decided on whose birthday it should be held.

Evening Weather Report

Sunlight kindled white puffs of cloud all afternoon, and parts of the ground actually dried. By dusk, the clouds had crowded the entire sky, and tonight no stars can be seen. It's spring by day and winter by night. Now it does not rain and does not clear. I want spectacle. I get monotony. My unstimulated brain goes to sleep even as I walk about. I wake in another room, the memory of how I got there as vague as the fragments of a dream.