...Misty, Moisty Morning...

Our Indian summer has headed south for the winter. It has been a glorious week that has raised one's spirit no end. This morning the sky was grey and the air was damp and made me think of the old nursery rhyme:


One misty, moisty, morning,
When cloudy was the weather,
There I met an old man
All clothed in leather

All clothed in leather,
With a cap under his chin.
How do you do?
And how do you do?
And how do you do again?

I didn't meet an old man, let alone anyone clothed in leather. The only life on Newgale this morning were the gulls. Not even another dog walker. So, today's blip is as grey as the day itself. Devoid of colour. No golden hue of leaf nor ruby red of berry. No vibrant blue of sky nor azure sea. Just ...grey.