A Misty Day When the temperature rises suddenly, it has
a subtle effect on the whole countryside. A mist drifts among the elms, smoke hangs about the cottage-chimneys and the surface of the road becomes damp; but the stillness that seems to belong to the mist is partly due to the fact that the birds are quiet. The crow sits morosely on the naked bough; the beech is the perch of a dozen small birds that do nothing but wait for the dampness to lift, and even the little owl is there on the post looking like a ball of feathers, blinking contemplatively. One listens for the wren in vain The heron goes silently across the valley, but he seems to be the only thing in flight. If the mist is rolled away by the wind, the birds come down from the beech, fluttering on the ploughing, and the crow preens himself and flies off, but, if no breeze comes, the country sleeps in unhealthy dampness that makes beads of moisture form on one's coat and condensation on the milk-churns lying against the hedge.
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