First the land wore fog like a muffler, loosely knotted at the throat.
Then it cleared and re-appeared in wraiths of this and not this.
Finally, it frosted high tree and needle, washing across University Avenue near the golf course along the plateau's rim, on slow-wafting waves of exhalation.
Curious to know if it persists, I just opened the kitchen door and shot this.
Across the woods a streetlamp; before me fog, puffing and splotching like fading, haunting memory.
A good day and good night for staying in, reading.
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