#dark woods
The fog has been heavy here lately; the sea of dead goldenrod seems to be full of prying eyes. Our livestock guard dog, Sylva, barked throughout the night, standing sentry, stalking the fence line. Standing at the edge of the woods, Michael heard something “laughing or crying inside the barn”. He turned to go check on it, but I told him that he knows better than that and to come inside where the fire was hot.
Nothing good comes with the fog.
