On grey windy days like today, I hate being at work. Cooped-up in my cubicle, my mind is off wandering through misty farm fields. At the very least, I should be snuggled under a warm blanket with a cup of tea. Barn in the Mist by Elizaville.
“My Sorrow, when she’s here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain, Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane…” Trees in Spring Fog by Eye Poetry Photography.
You must save these for autumn when the hastening dusk will once again cast the melancholic pall we so yearn for.
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