A dark and gloomy winter’s day
(Photo by Robin. 2007)
It’s a dark and gloomy winter’s day. A day when the crows come to call. And to caw, chattering in the trees, consorting with the likes of other blackbirds such as the common grackle.
As I take my afternoon walk, my hair starts to curl from what a friend calls the mizzle. It’s too much to be called a mist yet not enough to be called a drizzle: a mizzle. The moisture feels good, soaking into my skin. The temperature is once again unseasonably warm, yet there is a hint of winter in the air, the cold weather that will move in a few days from now. I can smell it, you know, the weather that’s yet to come. It’s an odd talent, smelling the weather. But a handy one, too.
A crow flies ahead of me on my walk. I wonder where he’ll lead me if I decide to keep following him.