Light Rain.

The weather said so. I can't confirm it because I'm at work, but just to see those two little words pop up over there on the weather thing gives me the happiness. And more in the forecast for tomorrow evening. An embarrassment of riches.

Outside here at 27244 it's dusk, a little damp, and spitting some — but not enough of any of it to keep me from student conferences in the lawn chairs, under, oddly, the only other Chinese Fir I've ever seen. Cool and gray and dark at 5:10. Acorns are falling and bouncing off the sidewalks, and a squirrel leapt off the roof of Whitley and fell three stories, tail helicoptering out behind it, crash-down into a bush. Then it walked out like nothing had happened at all, like it had done the whole thing on purpose. What, that? I meant to do that. I do that all the time.