I can barely see across the pond this morning.
My favorite little island, round and secure in the distance, moves in and out of a shroud of fog. The far shore has become invisible, hidden behind a curtain of grey.
The other day, the orange topped trees stood starkly against a crystalline blue sky. No clouds broke the expanse of brilliance.
Today the colors are muted, dull. The waves roll in, relentless.
It is too early for winter but the signs are clear, the air heavy with anticipation of a gathering gloom.