Twiggery is the way of the weathery day here in Bethel.  The skyline is not especially branchy in either the near or far horizon.  The trunks of trees, usually so stalwart, seem almost beside the point of landscape identity in this neither/nor of a day.

Neither warm, nor so terribly cold.  Neither bleak nor welcoming the day has simply stood still.  This stillness has totally disregarded the propriety of known universal laws. Many, many agreed-upon-laws have been broken by this refusal to change, to move along.  Fortunately for the day there is no policing available.  Otherwise the night would be forced to come early to bail the day out.  Good grief what confusion these improprieties bring!

In this stillness, twigs, filled with reach and fuss, jumble up the sky and create a messiness in the landscape usually reserved for what we call weeds.  Not that there really are plants that are weeds, yet another agreed-upon term for any plant neither easily identified nor planted by the human hand.

Neither/nor, there it is again.  You just never know what the day may bring.  Or not.