Thursday, this be a cold day. Dark and drear the hangs the sky. A grey pall lies over the fading greens of summer. The muted light quiets the bursting golds and bright reds of autumn.
A soundtrack for this day would be a raw edged ballad about loss and longing, Steve Earle singing in his whiskey and cigarette ravaged voice about some love gone bad to bullets.
I will walk this day a see what there is that can catch an eye and provide joy to a weary spirit. The common cold has overtaken me and I ache. Worse yet I have liquid oozing from my nostrils and Kleenex are flying off my desk. Still I will stuff a wad of tissues in my pockets and head off. A walk it is then.
[Time Passes]
In the shades of grey in which the world is draped I found a small wonder. Walking by the office of an insurance screening agency I caught my image in the mirrored glass. I looked a window ahead and there it was. A tree showing all the glory of fall reflected in a distorted softened image. Like I said a walk can provide joy for a weary spirit.
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