This morning's light was clouded. And beautiful. I know chilly, misty mornings depress some people, but to me they're comforting, softened around the corners. The trees in our yard are completely bare of leaves now, and their black branches stand out against the pale grey sky like Chinese calligraphy, delicate and bold. I lay awake trying to decipher them for a little while. Sometimes mystery is better than knowing, though. Even if it is more frustrating.