Light Drizzle.

Or even a medium drizzle at times, if you want to know the truth, which of course you do. The sweetgum out back by the shed is bronzing over. The junk maple my folks brought us three years ago has gone red-orange, or orange-red, depending. Remember those two Crayola colors? Me, too. The Vieja maple's about spent. Phil's maples are on the verge of lighting themselves red. It's fall, still fall, the middle of what has been a damn fine fall, and it's raining. Drizzling. There's a fog to go with it. You don't want to cheer for weather on election day — it keeps folks home. Not these folks, though. We're off to stand in line right now. We're bringing the big umbrella. We're ready to wait. Today's probably the kind of day where you're going to want a cup of tea. Here's hoping, too, that later on you'll want a cup of champagne. Come on, baby. Goddamnit, come on, come on.