Chill Still

So the rain failed today and the sun came out, but night has turned cold. Damp rises from the ground and hovers like invisible fog. The chill air doesn't stir, but leaves fall. I must select a book to read. This is the sort of night that demands a book and a blanket and a purring cat. That quiet does not want to be broken by a television or the hum of a computer. The turning of pages will echo the falling oak leaves. A lamp's pooled light will show proper respect for the stars.


( Sunday Verse )