Wednesday, November 4, 2026, 50.9* F, 92% RH, 30.17 BP, 0531
Like a screen print, black shapes itself into trees against silky silver sky. Grass spider clings to vinyl siding. Leaning against the gate, a package delivered after bedtime. Damp. Glancing through blinds, it could be a winter morning. It is fog, not snow sitting on branches. Nothing sounds. Not even Ruger his dark presence unknown in the unlit hall until I almost step on him, recovering balance without spilling a drop from the coffee in hand.
Light clears darkness, fog asks for waiting.
Photo: LJ Austin
