Fog

The day hasn't been perfect, actually, I'd give it a 6½ overall. But on the way home, I realised I was having a perfect moment and sometimes, that's good enough.

The air was crisp, it had become satisfyingly colder during the afternoon. Let's say it was al dente. The light was fading and the sky was ribboned with pink and gold. And I was surrounded my trees, bare, beautiful bones of trees and deep green, majestic conifers. I experienced one of those moments of hearing that still, small voice of calm.

My daily routine is to get up at 7, go down and make the coffee and my porridge, and when I do, I open the front door and look out.
Yesterday morning I looked out and realised I couldn't see any further than the doorstep, the world was shrouded in fog.
By eight, when I set off for work, the fog was lifting very slightly. On every bush, on every tree, were dew-bejewelled spiders' webs. Hammocks of sheet webs, big, perfect orb webs, and strands, just strands linking every twig. Some of the webs were insane, spiders confused by the fog perhaps.