On little cat feet.

[ambitious_wench]

Carl Sanburg wrote "The fog comes on little cat feet." It's a foggy autum day here in New England. I'm tempted to write that bare trees lift skeletal fingers imploringly to the heavens, but that is just too florid, even for me!

An oddity: There are some ancient flowering plums outside the Mohr Library in my town that bloom in autumn and spring. As I said in JazzMasterson's journal, it may be that senility has set in, and they cannot distinguish between the two seasons. Yes, the picture up there is of the bloosoms. You can see the larger version by going here. Here's another pic of the same tree:

It's a mystery.

Speaking of mysteries, I'm going to be working on my NaNoWriMo novel almost exclusively for the next two weeks. I'd like to thank fuzzy bunny for his help in building a mystery--I've got the beginings of a relatvively good plot.

Enjoy the day, folks.

Comments

[scascot.livejournal.com]

I love the fog. Makes everything seem otherworldly and serene. Insulated from the sounds of the modern world, you can listen to the beat of life when you're in the fog.

Hello, SCAScot!

[ambitious-wench.livejournal.com]

Welcome, my friend! That was well spoken, I can tell you are indeed a musician!