This week I went to the country. Two nights and a day on a small ranch near a small town in Texas. It was near dusk when I arrived but still I stopped at the small body of water near the gate and took photographs of the dried reeds, the rippling reflection of tree tops.
The next day I took walks and drank tea, read an old New Yorker and watched home makeovers.
When I left the following day it was still overcast and drizzly. I stopped for coffee but got a peppermint hot chocolate. Back on the road, I turned on the windshield wipers and listened to Christmas carols on the radio.
Bare trees lined the way, limbs bending earthward. Everywhere colors were muted: brown fields and gray skies.
Crossing a bridge, I glanced down. Mist hovered over the river.