Foggy December Morning

This morning dawned warm and foggy.

I was up in time to see the sun rise. On my way up the driveway to the paper box, I could see golden light creeping through the trees.

To the north, fog hung low.

Then the sun rose higher.

From the end of my driveway, I could see more low fog to the southeast.

In the pasture across the road, shafts of sunlight pierced the fog.

Eddie-Puss, king of the household cats, followed me partway to get the paper.

Waiting in the gazebo where I'd drink my first cup of coffee and read the paper was George, youngest of the household cats.

Eddie-Puss, who doesn't like George, sneaked closer . . .

. . . and closer.

Ed soon took a position of authority. He has to teach upstart George who the king cat really is.

George has learned not to challenge Eddie-Puss.

Meanwhile, old dog Emma came out of the garage to oversee her domain.

Across the road, cows graze in the foggy pasture.

Except for the leafless trees, today could have been a morning in August. It was that warm—mid-70s later in the day.

Not like a December morning at all.

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