Drizzles. Only enough so you know the clouds are above you, and they are heavy with water.

Or, perhaps they are lighter now that somewhere they have poured out their aqueous souls.

The birds are active and alive. From my cold perch on a covered porch I hear all sorts of them lazily chattering to one another. The occasional croak of a frog reminds me that humans are not the only creatures affected by the wispy blanket above us. Most everything has a quiet wonder about it - listening, observing one another but unwilling to break the silence that the gray above and around us has placed softly here.

Even though everything is gray and flat, the greenery pops out at you. Anything blessed with a sheen of water glows. The droplets in the pine boughs glisten with more ethereal beauty than any queen's crown ever hope to reflect.

And here I sit in silence, my self and soul and ears content to listen and drink in the beauty that this cloudy morning has granted me.

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