So Miserable.

Heavy fog this morning giving way to a forty-degree rain: I love it. We're past that point where every tree is lit up, and are moving now towards the place where this kind of rain might take a good portion of the rest of the leaves down. The days are getting shorter. It's cold. It's cold in here and I'm running the heat. I've got two shirts on. I'm layering. I'm thinking hard about making tonight the first chili night. I love November more than I love February. Come February I'm tilting towards March and April. In November I'm tilting towards solstice, towards soups, towards finding another record to put on and a chair to slump down into and a hat and my high school girlfriend's grandfather's flannel shirt, which still and still I cannot throw away.