We took an early brisk walk this morning in Elm Grove Cemetery, each going in different directions and high-fiving when we passed.
It was a cold, gray morning, very different from the mild, colorful mornings in October, but still, there was elegance in the slightly-moving trees, the silent gravestones, and the silvery Mystic River with a lone sculler spiritedly rowing his smooth-looking ship up the middle towards the 95 bridge.
an old dude selfie-ing 
in the distance, a sculler scoots along
EVERYDAY MIRACLES: An Occasional Journal of a Life Lived in Wonder 