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Gray Days. You know the ones I am talking about. The days when mist hangs all around in the air encompassing the leafless trees in a hazy crown. Limbs stick out of the mist like arms clawing for something better. Reaching for light that's not there. Everything is wet. The ground muddy from days of rain, but no sunshine is available to dry things out. Sweater weather.
The kind of day where you want to stay inside, sip warm drinks, eat soup. Stay in bed. But you can't. You're an adult. You have to drag yourself up by your bootstraps and leave the house earlier than normal because the wet, fog ridden roads will slow your commute.
I love days like this. I think gray days lend themselves to introspection. They make us, well, me atleast, want to draw in. Yet, at the same time, days like this make me want to hit the woods. Have a twig fire. Make cowboy coffee and read a book or journal while sitting under a tarp out in the woods.
Unfortunately, it's a Thursday and I have to go to work.