It rained all night. Thick cloud cover moderates temperatures this time of year. I stuck my head out this morning; I had an inkling the weather might be warm enough to venture to the Teahouse this morning.

The Teahouse is exactly as I had left it some weeks ago. A half-burned stick of incense remained from my last meditation. I lit it and began.

The cemetery behind the Teahouse is shrouded in fog and steam this morning. I opened the screen so I could look at the brown, translucent lines of trees and shrubs as I sat. Occasional cries from migrating geese and a train in the distance: these were the only sounds of note other than soft rain striking the Teahouse roof.