Fresh Night, Stale Thoughts

[rejectomorph]

The clouds have chosen to return and soften the bright moonlight. The pine woods never look better than they do on these cloudy, moonlit winter nights. The scattered oaks, bare of leaves, reveal a plenitude of sky and grace it with their complex tracery. The air, though still cold, is less so than recently, and it is comfortable to remain outdoors for extended periods. I must say that, thus far, this has been a very good winter here. There has been enough deep cold to make me appreciate being able to get out of it and read good books with a cozy cat curled up on my lap; there has been enough rain to keep everything green and fresh; there has been a little bit of snow, but not enough to interfere with daily life; and there have been enough clear or only partly cloudy days to provide a respite from the gray and preserve my pleasure in it. I could be churlish and ask for a bit more fog, but I won't stretch my luck. Should the season continue in this vein, I'll be well pleased with it.

I have somewhat less pleasure in myself, though. Thus far, I have failed to accomplish anything commensurate with the quality of the season. My thoughts are unfocused, and I have been lacking in energy. I'd like to get out a bit more, which might stimulate me to greater efforts, and I would like to write more, and more ambitiously. For the moment, it seems that I'm more inclined to enjoy the time than to make use of it or commemorate it. I'm not sure what to do about the situation, so I merely wait it out. Ah, well. At least it is a pleasant time in which to wait.