A dull gray sky greets me from my office window. It is winter in Ohio, yet unseasonably warm temperatures hold the snows back. Creeping fog bathes the hills and valleys in the distance. Droplets of water, precariously clinging to the topmost twigs of the tree that grows on this side of the house, capture the precious little sunlight that filters through the mists.
I do not have much affection for sunshine and heat; I am a Moody Weather Person. Rain is ultimately quixotic and I revel in the earthly scents that rise up from the saturated ground. The fog behaves as a natural baffler, muting the distant sounds of the highway. This is a day for soup and Kipling. I would perhaps enjoy it more had I not picked up Better Half’s flu, but by doing so I do have an excuse to remain in bed and take pleasure in this exquisite weather as it paints the moving pictures so perfectly framed by my bedroom windows.