![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphThe days do nothing but get away anymore. How do they keep doing that? Today's end may have been its best part, though, full of fluffy little clouds turned pink by sunset's afterglow. I woke from an unintentional nap just in time to see them swallowed by darkness. Sort of like my soul, I guess.
The clouds appear to be thickening, and the night air smells damp. Autumn is creeping up, though the summer insects still drone in the nearby fields. I recall that all day my joints have ached more than they have recently done. Maybe I've developed that ability to predict through joint pain impending changes in the weather. I'd rather I wouldn't, but I guess I don't get a choice.
The clouds appear to be thickening, and the night air smells damp. Autumn is creeping up, though the summer insects still drone in the nearby fields. I recall that all day my joints have ached more than they have recently done. Maybe I've developed that ability to predict through joint pain impending changes in the weather. I'd rather I wouldn't, but I guess I don't get a choice.
