One is transported back in time, a time of the colors of rock, earth and sky.
One sees that the ocean has come to us, roosters marking space instead of the mournful sound of foghorns.
One feels wrapped in, like a cashmere shawl on a summer evening.
One wonders if Heathcliff might appear at any moment, wet and bedraggled, coming across the field.
One experiences the damp fog brushing ones cheeks like the felt fur of a cat’s ears.
One hears the silence of the air and the murmur of the river.
One wonders where the clop of horses’ hooves are when walking the streets after dark.
One scampers in the gate just in case there is a werewolf lurking under the hoot of the owl.
One lingers in the toasty bed watching through big windows as the day slowly brightens with pearly brightness.
One loses all sense of time, suspended in a constant grey light, in the already short days.
One misses crisp blue sunny days.
One thanks Persephone and Hades for bringing us this season of repose.