Today there is a cold, intermittent rain falling outside, and the wind will chill you to the bone. It's certainly not a day to go out and take pictures, which is what I had planned to do with my day off. On the way to see my family last week I saw some interesting landscapes about 10 miles outside of town, cotton fields blooming and abandoned tobacco barns and swampy areas with bare cypress knees reaching up out of the water. I promised myself on my next day off I would pack a lunch and a camera and go get some photos, but unless the rain lets up soon it will have to wait until later in the week. Possibly Thursday will be better (that's my next opportunity).
Meanwhile, it's a good week to enjoy the comforts of home. Pajamas at night, the fireplace lit, movies to watch, warm home cooked meals, and books read in bed are how we're passing the time on these bleak early winter days.
A poem for November I wanted to share:
"The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night,
Ya-honk! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation:
The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen closer,
I find its purpose and place up there toward the November sky."- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1855, I Celebrate Myself, Line 238