The Fog and Three Ladies.

The walk tonight was a strange one. Fog such as I have never seen in the Shire suffocated the vista of dale, hill, hedgerow and copse; and Mistress Moon, glowing fitfully from a hazy heaven, failed in her attempt to conquer the dark, damp blanket with the grace of her light. The forward aspect of New House Farm and its attendant trees rose broodily in dark half tone, whilst the rear was all but consumed by the clammy vapour.

This is what comes of reading Jane Eyre and walking past a house that was built while Charlotte Bronte was still alive, if only just.

*  *  *

My horoscope in the TV listings guide informs me that Venus is now entering my sign, so I should expect dalliances. Venus has, indeed, re-entered my world in the form of the electrifying Bagel Lady of Brooklyn. There is, of course, no prospect of dalliance. Neither is there any prospect of further elucidation.

I like to end on a mystery, and it seems I have a lot of comments to read.