Image via Wikipedia (Can you say dead ringer?)
Couldn't sleep. Got up early, with the sun, or -- I should say -- with the sun wrestling the fog. A gray morning. A dim morning.
Brings to mind these lines from John Greenleaf Whittier's "Snowbound," which came swirling into mind, unbidden but insistent.
The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of grey,
And darkly circled, gave at noon,
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy.
We are talking mood more than external facts, but mood is an internal fact, is it not?
Editor's Note: Well, that wasn't so bad. For lunch, there was cream of garlic soup in the cafeteria.