Misty

Mists muffled the damp stands of Brinken Wood this morning and every thing felt subdued. On a morning like this, with the forest all closed down and still, you can feel Winter stalking, waiting to lay claim to the naked land. With every walk the forest becomes increasingly bare as the canopies begin to thin and the carpet of fallen leaves deepens. Damp clings to everything, the trees, the grass, the ponies, me, everything; that said, there's a fresh, clean quality to the air.  Throughout Brinken the seasonal channels and pools are beginning to fill, the streams flow fuller and walking a straight path is becoming more interesting. Not that I'm complaining. Each season has their own purpose, their own beauty. Or rather each season should have its own identity, although increasingly they are being lost in the chaos of climate change. And that is Sad. But when it's right you seem to feel it and knowing it's right you instinctively embrace it. That's how it was today.