Smelling Fall.

I hope, 27408ers and those nearby, that you spent the bulk of yesterday in the out-of-doors. That was a little free late-September preview. It did not, of course, rain, but we've all learned by now not to hope for rain, haven't we? And in Don't Even Think About Hoping For Rain News, Fay made her fourth landfall in Florida yesterday, and there still exists the possibility of a fifth, and they still don't really seem to know where she's going or when she'll get there, but: It now it looks like they think she just might maybe hook back again — a second full turn in five days — this-a-way, which would land us with at least a kind of muddled unsettled weather pattern for next week. Certain of the forecasts have us picking up serious rain midweek. Like more than one inch of rain. What this means, of course, is that there is no chance at all of that happening. I don't care. I'm going to go on and get my hopes up again. I like a life filled with melancholic disappointment.

It should be 97 degrees and desert-dry, so I guess I'll try not to complain us all into submission. I should be awful, and it isn't. It's just so dry.

The dog, on her walk yesterday, got that high step she gets when she can aim her nose into the fall wind and taste and sniff and smile. It wasn't the first truly cool breeze yesterday, not by far. We won't get that until October. But you could tell the dog remembered what all this might be about, knew a trip into the mountains couldn't be all that far off.

It's warmer today, but not by tons. Y'all get out there and find some errands to run. Roll the windows down. Take the dogs for a drive. Busted August continues. Go outside and play.