musings

It is early and I am awake. I like the early mornings in the fall. The sharp breath of the cool air. The fog seems to blanket the world and mutes all the sounds. The crows outside are noisy, cawing at each other in a melancholy kind o way. The pear tree in front of my patio drops another of the spent fruits right in front of me and it splattered. The acrid smell of wood smoke hangs in the air. My coffee is bitter