Cold Front.

Another cold front through and no rain. Well, not entirely true: The airport reported a whole hundredth of an inch at 3 in the morning. So I took the dog and my coffee out front to water the pansies first thing. Hand-water, that is, as per the ongoing GSO restrictions that probably ought to go permanent.

It nearly smells like winter out there. Southern winter — not real winter — but it smells like Thanksgiving in Nashville. Or warm January. Or something. The leaves are coming down all over. Our dusty drought-resultant fall continues. Like a special set of paint chips: Drought. Earth tones, sort of.

Last night I got a little hopeful: a big comma of thunderstorms hung itself across the west side of the Appalachians and back through Tennessee. All we get out of it, though, is fire warnings. And perhaps a frost. Only you can prevent forest fires. Safety first. Look alive out there, people.