Smoked

A very thin fog has arrived and the night would smell of it were it not for the wood smoke overwhelming it. Chimneys sport curls that spread and drift, dimly lit by a porch light here and there. The thin crescent moon will not rise for hours, and the clouds are apt to return by the time it does.

The bright and mild afternoon was enough to briefly dispel the dullness of winter, but the nocturnal chill and the smoke have brought it back. Perhaps a rain of greater force will finally come to end the monotony of recent days. Perhaps the fires will burn out and the smoke dissipate in an hour or two. For now I lurk in the house, displeased with both the dull night and my dull thoughts. I want air!

( Sunday Verse )